Right As Rain
by klemonademouth
Summary: Kurt is a Cheerio. Blaine is a nerd. For some reason, Kurt doesn't really care what it'll do to his reputation. He just wants Blaine. My take on the cheerio!Kurt/nerd!Blaine craze. Background Faberry, Tike, Samcedes, and Brittana.
1. I, Kurt

**A/N: This story is my own take on nerd!Blaine, cheerio!Kurt. I have no idea how long it's going to be, or the _exact _plotline. I have a general idea. I will update as frequently as possible, but I am very busy with my schoolwork (apparently, college requires you to do a lot of homework. Who knew?) and I can't guarantee when each update will occur.**

**I have one or two people looking over each chapter as I write it, so there shouldn't be many grammatical or factual errors, but they of course can't catch everything.**

**I don't own Glee or any of the characters mentioned in this story.**

The noise from the crowd was thunderous, ringing in Kurt's ears as he thrust his fists up to the sky, head dropping on the last note. He could feel the heat radiating off Mercedes standing beside him as they panted together.

"We rocked that," she gasped, and out of the corner of his eye he saw a smile twitch at her lips.

He lifted his head, grinning. "You don't have to tell me."

"And next week will be even better. Miss Sylvester pulled me into her office yesterday to tell me-"

There was a boy in the crowd. He wasn't standing, like the rest of them—he was sitting, chin perched in hands, notebook balancing precariously on his lap. A pair of thick-framed glasses were sliding off his nose.

He was staring at Kurt.

Kurt was staring back.

"Kurt?" Mercedes asked.

Kurt couldn't bring himself to blink, let alone look away from him.

"Don't even _think_ about it, Kurt, everything about Anderson _screams_ virgin," Mercedes said, pleadingly. "It's social suicide."

Kurt smiled softly.

Hesitantly, the boy smiled back.

xxxx

"His name is Blaine Anderson," Rachel said, slamming her locker shut and turning to face Kurt. "He's editor-in-chief of the school newspaper."

"The muckraker?" Kurt asked, fists balling up in the pockets of his letterman jacket. The muckraker had been what had finally forced him out of the closet his freshman year of high school.

Rachel snorted. "Like Blaine would be caught _dead_ working for the muckraker. You have no idea how often he complains about it. No. He's the editor-in-chief for the McKinley High Times. He wants to major in journalism. He's slated to be valedictorian of his class. He takes AP Chemistry, AP Psychology, and AP English. And he's co-head of the Glee Club with me."

"So he's a nerd," Kurt said, smoothing down his jacket.

Rachel shot him a look. "N-no, I wouldn't say he's a _nerd_, exactly, I would say he's _extremely dedicated _to his schooling." She stopped short, turning around to face Kurt. "Look, Kurt, I like you."

"Thank you."

"I don't think you're stuck up or mean like most of the other cheerios, and I think you're probably a good person although the fact that you always seem to hold conversations with me only when we're in deserted hallways does say something about your obsession with status and your reputation."

Kurt's eyebrows arched.

"But Blaine is my friend, and I need to know why you're asking all these things."

"I can't just be curious?" Kurt asked, airily.

Rachel shook her head. "It's you. You never talk to me unless you need something."

"I'm interested in him." Kurt confessed.

"Okay, Kurt, this is important. Please don't _lie_ to me about this."

"I'm not lying, Rachel. I'm interested in Blaine."

"As in—romantically?"

"No, Rachel, I just want to know where he got the jacket he was wearing," Kurt snapped. "What do you think?"

"Then why are you asking me?" Rachel asked, shuffling her sheet music around in her arms. "Shouldn't you be asking him?"

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Yes, it makes perfect sense for me to just go up to another boy and say, 'I think I like you. Are you gay, by any chance?'"

"He is," Rachel said.

"That's good to know," Kurt said, "but I don't know enough about him yet. I don't want to come on too strong."

Rachel began to smile. "You really do like him, don't you?"

"I might," Kurt said, softly. "I'd like to talk to him."

"And you aren't concerned with your reputation at all?" Her lips pressed together.

He hesitated. "I can't lie and say that concern hasn't crossed my mind, but..." he swallowed. "Reputation isn't everything."

Rachel's eyes flicked over his face, assessing. "Come to Glee practice tomorrow," she said, finally. "Blaine will be there."

Kurt's mouth twisted.

"You sing, Kurt, I've heard you," Rachel said. "You sing for the Cheerios all the time. You're very talented."

"That isn't the issue here," Kurt said. "Do I have to... join?"

Rachel rolled her eyes a little. "It isn't necessary, no, but I do think it would be a step in the right direction in your endeavor to win the affections of one Blaine Anderson."

Kurt swallowed hard, and thought back to the face of the boy in the gymnasium.

"I'll do it," he said.

xxxx

"You can't," Mercedes said, as soon as Kurt picked up the phone.

"Hello to you too, Mercedes," Kurt said, pressing speaker so he could finish hanging up his sweaters.

"I'm serious, Kurt. You _can't_ join Glee Club."

"I worry about the rate at which gossip travels in this school," Kurt said, eying one of his older sweaters critically.

"Kurt, you will _ruin_ your reputation. Do you _want_ to go back to being slushied?"

Kurt sighed, giving up on organizing his wardrobe for the time being. "What about Santana and Brittany?" he asked, positioning himself cross-legged on the bed. "They spend half of their time in that choir room and they've never been slushied."

"They didn't join Glee Club to get in some guy's pants," Mercedes said. "They did it to spy for Sue." She paused for a second, then said, "Kurt, that's what you can do!"

"I'm not joining Glee Club to spy," Kurt said, sharply. "If Coach Sylvester needs a reason for me being there, I'll tell her I'm concerned about my vocal strength and that I joined glee club to hone my voice to perfection."

"Do you think she'd buy that?" Mercedes asked dubiously.

"She'd believe that over me joining just so I have an excuse to get close to a _boy_. She asked me yesterday if I'd had my genitals cut off at a young age, Mercedes. She thinks I'm completely sexless."

"Kurt," Mercedes said softly.

Kurt sighed, switching the phone off speaker. "Yeah?"

"You know I'm just trying to look out for you, right? I just want you to think about what you're doing. I don't want you to get hurt."

"I'm a big boy, Mercedes, I can handle a slushie."

"I don't mean that." Mercedes paused. "Just that, even if this boy is gay, how do you know he's out? Or that he'll like you that way? And even if he does, you're going to have to deal with a ton of hate for being with him. Is he really worth all of that?"

"I don't know," Kurt said, honestly. "I don't know him well enough to know. But Mercedes? He's the first boy I've ever _wanted_ to know badly enough to make me do something like this. And that must count for something."

After he hung up with Mercedes, he fell back against his bed, staring at the ceiling.

Going after this boy—this Blaine Anderson—would be going against everything Coach Sylvester had drilled into his head.

Was it worth it?

Was _he_ worth it?

His phone vibrated once more, and he looked down at it, fully expecting a text from Mercedes warning him once more of the dangers of becoming involved with someone outside of their social circle.

It was Santana.

He picked up the phone and cleared his throat, trying not to show his surprise. "Santana. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Cut the crap, Ennis Del Mar," she snapped. "Mercedes tells me you're going to join the glee club."

Kurt sighed, pressing the phone between his cheek and his shoulder so he could resume hanging the sweaters he'd neglected during his phone call with Mercedes. "Yes, and? In case it's slipped your mind, Satan, you're _in_ glee club. You can't exactly judge."

"I don't care _that_ you're joining, lady-face," Santana snapped back. "I want to know why."

"Why do you care?"

"I saw you looking at Anderson," she said, shortly. "I saw the way you looked at him. I saw you talking to Berry afterward."

"And?"

"_And_," Santana snarled, "you're forgetting that I'm _friends_ with Blaine. He and I are in glee club together. He's not like you and me, Hummel. He's a _nice person_. And if you're doing this just to _fuck_ with him, because some bitch on the squad bet that you couldn't tap that virgin ass, I swear to god, Hummel, I will rip your precious hair out strand by strand."

"I'm not a total _bitch_, Santana, I'm not _you_," Kurt snapped, his free hand curling into a fist around the sweater he was holding. "I would never do that. I asked about Blaine because I'm _interested_ in _getting to know him_, not 'tapping that virgin ass' because if you had even bothered to try to _talk_ to me at all in the past three years, you would know that already."

"And what, exactly, do you and Blaine have in common?" Santana ground out. "What is it that makes him so _interesting_ to you?"

"I don't _know_," Kurt shot back, grinding his teeth. "I don't _know_ why Blaine is so interesting to me, I just know that I saw him and I _had_ to get to know him better. I can't explain it. But I'm not doing this just to _get in his pants_, Santana. He matters."

"If you hurt him, Hummel, I will slit your lily-white throat," Santana said, and hung up the phone.

xxxx

Kurt rapped his knuckles lightly against the wood frame of the door. "Mr. Schuester?"

Mr. Schue glanced up, then did a double-take. "Kurt! What a surprise. What can I do for you?"

Kurt fidgeted with the strap on his bag for a moment, then stepped decisively into the room and sat in the chair in front of his desk. "Mr. Schuester, I would like to join the glee club."

Mr. Schue blinked. "You're—you're kidding."

Kurt stared stonily at him.

"Why?"

"You may have noticed that I'm the vocals for the Cheerios," Kurt said, folding his arms. "We want to win Nationals again. It will be our sixth undefeated year, and in order to do that, I need to be the best that I can be. I need professional training."

"The glee club hardly qualifies as professional-"

"It's still better than the vocal training I have now, which is none," Kurt said. He leaned forward. "Mr. Schuester, are you going to let me join or not?"

"Kurt, our policy is that whoever wants to join the club gets to," Mr. Schuester said, firmly. "I'm sorry if I made it seem like you can't join. We have an audition process, but it's very informal and won't be necessary in your case. We've all heard you sing."

"I'd like the chance to audition anyway," Kurt said. "I never get to pick out my song with the Cheerios." _And this might be my only chance to serenade Blaine and win his affections_, he added, silently.

Mr. Schuester examined him for a moment. "Can you have a number prepared for tomorrow."

Kurt sniffed. "Of course."

"Then welcome aboard, Kurt. We'll be pleased to have you."

"Thank you, Mr. Schue," Kurt said, standing and sticking his hand out for the teacher to shake. "You won't regret it."

Mr. Schue was left looking a little bit like he'd been blind-sided by a semi.

xxxx

"What are you going to sing?" Quinn asked, tapping her fingernails against his arm and gesturing to one of the bottles of nail polish in the display case.

He folded his arms, cocking his head to the side as he examined the colour. "Too lurid for your skin tone," he decided. "You need something more pastel-coloured."

"You're avoiding the question," Quinn said, shortly, bending to look at the duller colours on a rack closer to the floor.

Kurt eyed himself critically in the mirror beside the sunglasses rack. "This lighting is awful for my skin."

"Deflecting," Quinn said, but she was smiling. "Come on, what song are you going to sing? You could do Ingrid Michaelson, I think. Your voice doesn't have the same tone as hers, but she's in your range."

Kurt placed a pair of mirrored glasses back on the rack, and turned to face her. "Why aren't you ragging on me for this? Shouldn't you be telling me I'll ruin my reputation, that Blaine isn't worth it because he's a frigid virgin, that he's too smart for me and I'm too popular for him?"

"Why would I?" Quinn asked, confused.

"You used to be in the Cheerios," Kurt said, his eyebrows arching. "Reputation means everything to you."

"It used to," Quinn snapped. "In case you don't remember, that all sort of blew out the window when I got pregnant last year and was kicked off the squad."

Kurt said nothing.

Quinn sighed, tugging him out of the store, and sat down on a bench outside, scooting over to make room for him.

"I'm in New Directions," she said, once he'd sat down.

He stared at her, eyes wide.

"It's a well-kept secret," she confessed, her head tilting downwards. "Surprisingly enough, Rachel is the one who threatened the rest of the club with evisceration if they reveal my secret. She knows my reputation is in the gutter enough as it is."

Kurt snapped his mouth shut. "I can't believe nobody has found out yet."

"I'd prefer to keep it that way," Quinn said, a warning clear in her voice.

"I'm not going to tell anyone," Kurt said, reaching out to touch her hand.

Quinn forced her lips into a smile. "So." She cleared her throat. "Why do you want Blaine so badly?"

Kurt tilted his head thoughtfully. "I don't know," he said, finally. "I saw him, and it was like he actually saw me." He laughed a little. "Isn't that ridiculous? A _cheerio_ that feels ignored and invisible?"

"No," Quinn said, quietly, and her eyes flicked up to meet his. "That isn't ridiculous at all."

Their eyes stayed locked together for a moment, Kurt's mouth falling open a little as he realized what she meant, as he realized that _she understood him_.

Quinn stood up.

"Where are you going?" Kurt asked, jumping to his feet.

"I have the perfect song for your audition," Quinn said, reaching for his hand. "But we need to go back to my house."

"Why?" Kurt asked, picking up his bag. He could see Quinn's iPod sticking out of the pocket of her purse.

"We need my record player," Quinn said. She turned to smile at him, a sweet smile he hadn't seen since before Beth was born. "Blaine won't know what hit him."


	2. II, Blaine

**A/N: So, here we go. I think I've decided that (at least for now), the chapters will be alternating between Kurt's perspective and Blaine's perspective. You know, just to make it more frustrating for everyone involved.**

**Also, this story may contain minor spoilers, such as who Blaine's family is (specifically siblings), but I'll keep away from anything major.**

**Also, I don't own Glee.**

xxxx

Blaine swatted Santana's hand away from his hair for what had to be the fifth time. "Stop," he said, exasperation not entirely concealing the fondness in his voice.

"We could do so much with your hair," Santana said, folding her arms. "I understand the look you're going for, Blanderson, but there's a little bit too much gel in that hair to classify you in the 'Elvis' category."

Blaine folded his arms and tried to glare at her.

"Oh, that's adorable," Santana cooed, patting his arm. "You look like an angry puppy."

"I'm worried about your brain, Blaine," Brittany told him, solemnly. "Don't you know that hair gel is corporate America's way of controlling our brains? Pretty soon, the hair gel will begin to seep through your follicles and into your skull. And then you'll be a gel-zombie, existing only to mindlessly do their bidding."

Blaine blinked at her.

Mr. Schue strolled into the room (several minutes late as always) and clapped his hands. "All right, guys, listen up for a second. Now, we all know that we don't have enough members to compete at Sectionals."

"Yes, thank you for reminding us," Santana muttered.

"So, yesterday, I had a pretty... _influential_ member of the student body approach me and ask if it was possible for him to join our ranks."

Out of the corner of his eye, Blaine saw Santana straighten up, her fingers curling into fists.

"Ladies and gentlemen... Kurt Hummel."

Blaine's heart dropped out of the bottom of his feet as Kurt Hummel strode into the choir room.

Kurt. Hummel.

Quinn's hand landed on his thigh. He flinched. "Breathe," she advised, her voice soft.

"I'm fine," he said, a little more sharply than he had intended.

"No _freaking_ way," Puck said, loudly.

Blaine jumped, turning to stare up at him.

Kurt tipped his chin up, his eyes going icy. Mr. Schue's smile faded. "Is... there a problem, Puck?"

"You bet your ass there is," Puck folded his arms. "What the hell is he doing here?"

"I want to try out," Kurt said, his voice cutting.

"No _freaking way_," Puck repeated. "Princess Hummel just gets to waltz in here and turn us into Cheerios 2.0?"

Blaine glanced around him. Santana was nodding in agreement, as were Finn and Sam. He opened his mouth—what he was going to say, he wasn't sure—but Mr. Schue beat him to the punch.

"Come _on_, guys, that isn't fair," he said, his voice rising. "Santana and Brittany are on the Cheerios and they're just as much a part of New Directions as anyone else is."

Santana rolled her eyes.

Blaine cleared his throat.

Everyone looked at him.

He met Kurt's eyes as he spoke, held his gaze. "I'm with Mr. Schuester on this one. Kurt has a fantastic voice, I think we can all agree on that."

Kurt's lips turned up at the corners. Blaine tried very hard not to get distracted.

"It's not fair to not give him a chance," Blaine continued. "It's not the way we work."

"Thank you, Blaine," Mr. Schue said, a relieved tone to his voice.

"Go ahead, then, Hummel," Santana said, tilting her head so her ponytail swung menacingly. "Wow us all with another Ke$ha number."

"Unlike Santana, who doesn't have any personality other than 'bitch', I do have other songs in my repertoire," Kurt said, his hands going to his hips, his uniform stretching tantalizingly across his well-muscled chest.

Blaine bit his lip.

Kurt raised his eyebrow when his statement was met with silence, then reached into the waistband of his uniform (Blaine shifted in his chair, looking away) and withdrew a folded piece of sheet music. He unfolded it, handing it to Brad with a nod.

He began with his back to the rest of the choir room, palms resting flat on the smooth surface of the piano before him.

The intro began, began, slow and sweet piano music, and Blaine's eyes widened. This wasn't anything like what everyone (including himself, if he was honest) had expected.

Kurt turned, slowly, and then he was all Blaine could see.

_There's a saying old, says that love is blind_

_still, we're often told 'seek and ye shall find'..._

Kurt's voice was _incredible_. Kurt's voice was always incredible, of course, whether he was singing Lady Gaga or Ke$ha or Madonna, but...

_So I'll seek a certain lad I've found_

_In my dreams..._

All he could see was Kurt. He could still feel Quinn's hand on his knee, Brittany's chin resting on his shoulder, but every sound in the room that wasn't Kurt's voice had simply... faded away.

Blaine's pencil had slipped from his fingers. He was aware that he was staring, his mouth hanging open, but he couldn't bring himself to shut it.

Kurt's eyes were closed, his expression soft and yearning.

He sounded so _weary_, so _sad_.

_Looking everywhere, haven't found him yet_

_He's the big affair I cannot forget _

_Only man I ever think of with regret_

Blaine had every version of this song on his ipod, including the Frank Sinatra one, and yet none of them could ever come anywhere _close_ to the haunting beauty of Kurt's rendition. The raw emotion, the _pain_ behind it...

Kurt's eyes opened, met his.

Blaine sucked in a startled breath.

Kurt wasn't looking away. He held Blaine's gaze, his eyes bright and shining.

_I'd like to add his initials to my monogram_

_Tell me, where is the shepherd for this lost lamb?_

_There's a somebody I'm longing to see_

_I hope that he turns out to be_

_Someone who'll watch over me_

Blaine's hands gripped the side of the chair. He rocked back, telling himself firmly that it didn't mean _anything_ that Kurt was looking at him. That Kurt wasn't targeting those lyrics specifically at him. That Kurt just needed a person in the audience to play off of.

Because why would Kurt be singing about _him_?

_I'm a little lamb who's lost in the wood_

_I know I could, always be good _

_To one who'll watch over me_

Kurt's eyelashes fluttered coyly, hands coming to lace in front of him.

Blaine's breath caught.

_Although he may not be the man some _

_girls think of handsome_

_to my heart he carries the key_

He _couldn't_, he kept telling himself. He couldn't fall for Kurt Hummel. Kurt Hummel was one of the most popular people in school. One of the most talented people in school. Kurt Hummel was _attractive_, and _smart_, and from what he'd heard, _kind_. He was _Kurt Hummel, _and Blaine was _Blaine_, a nerd who could _never_ be noticed by someone like Kurt Hummel.

He told himself all of that.

It did nothing to slow his racing heart.

_Won't you tell him please to put on some speed_

_Follow my lead, oh how I need_

_Someone to watch over me..._

Kurt closed his eyes as the last note rang out across the choir room, sad and sweet. He seemed to come back to himself as Mr. Schuester brought his hands together in applause, Blaine following suit enthusiastically, the rest of the glee club less so. He took a seat on the other side of Quinn, and when he thought nobody was looking, wiped his eyes.

It struck Blaine then.

Kurt was _lonely_, Blaine realized with a pang in his chest. With all of his popularity and status and his 'head bitch in charge' persona, nobody had ever noticed. But Kurt was _lonely_. He didn't have anybody who really loved him, anyone who wanted to protect him. He didn't have anyone to love and protect in return.

Maybe it was that thought, that realization, that made Blaine chase after Kurt when Glee practice finally let out.

"Kurt?"

He could see Kurt freeze, see his spine stiffen, before he turned slowly. "Yes?"

Blaine held out a hand. "Blaine Anderson."

The corner of Kurt's mouth quirked up. Blaine tried hard not to stare at it. "I know. Kurt Hummel."

"I know," Blaine grinned, and shook the hand that Kurt had placed in his. "So I realize that Mr. Schuester probably forgot to tell you this: there's a duets competition coming up."

"What's that?" Kurt asked, shifting his weight to his other hip. Blaine's eyes flickered down to the way his muscles moved under his uniform before he could stop himself.

"It's basically a bit of friendly competition before sectionals to get us in the right mood to compete. The pair that wins gets a free trip to Breadstix. It's a little silly, but-"

"I like Breadstix," Kurt said, softly, and Blaine's stomach flipped.

"Well, I thought... I normally sing with Quinn or sometimes Santana, but I was thinking, since you're the new guy and I'm the veteran... maybe I could show you the ropes. Help acclimate you into Glee Club. If you're willing."

A slow smile spread across Kurt's face. "You want to sing with me?"

Blaine rocked back onto his heels. "I've never met a real countertenor before, do you _know_ what the two of us could do together?"

Kurt's right eyebrow arched. Blaine felt blood rush into his cheeks. "Not—what—I-" he sputtered.

"It's fine," Kurt said, softly. "Did you have any songs in mind?"

"No," Blaine said, his heart rate picking up. Was that a yes? "I was thinking I would wait for you to agree to sing with me before I picked out some music."

"Okay," Kurt murmured, eyelashes fluttering in a way that had Blaine's heart stuttering in his chest.

"Really?" Blaine breathed.

Kurt laughed, and the sound of it nearly caused Blaine's knees to buckle. It was musical, and breathy, and so beautiful that it made Blaine absolutely ache. "I would love to sing with you, Blaine."

"Great," Blaine said, his grin threatening to split his face. "Maybe we could meet in the Lima Bean today after school? Come up with some song ideas?"

Kurt hesitated. "I have Cheerios practice after school."

Blaine's smile dropped. "Oh. Um-"

"But after practice!" Kurt rushed. "Practice ends at four, we could meet up there afterwards?"

Blaine had to bite the inside of his mouth to keep himself from grinning too maniacally. "Yes. Yes. That sounds fantastic."

A sweet smile curved Kurt's lips upwards. "I'll see you at four?"

"I'll get our coffees," Blaine promised.

Kurt pressed his lips together, eyes twinkling. "You don't know what kind of coffee I prefer."

"My friends tell me I'm pretty good at guessing," Blaine said, throwing a wink at him and quickly turning to walk away before Kurt could see him blush.

Kurt watched him go, his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

Blaine had asked him to be his duet partner.

_Blaine_ had asked _him_ to be his duet partner.

He was very close to dancing in a very embarrassing fashion.

xxxx

When Kurt got to the Lima Bean, Blaine was already waiting at a table, two cups of coffee sitting in front of him. Kurt raised his eyebrows at Blaine as he sat down, reaching for the coffee that Blaine's hands weren't wrapped around.

Blaine grinned back, his heart fluttered at the way Kurt's eyelashes fanned out over his cheeks as he took his first sip of coffee.

Kurt set down the cup, blinking. "You know my coffee order."

"Of course I do," Blaine teased.

Kurt smiled softly, his fingers gently stroking the sides of his coffee cup, and Blaine had to look away as a sudden rush of fondness mixed with something like desperation flooded him. He didn't even _know_ Kurt. Or, maybe he did, from his extensive research—in _journalism's_ name—but Kurt most certainly didn't know him.

He cleared his throat, and spoke once he was certain that he could do so without embarrassing himself. "So, that song you sang in Glee Club. Not something I was expecting from you."

Kurt's eyes widened a little. Before Blaine could try to guess what _that_ was about, Kurt was laughing quietly. "Yeah. I felt like doing a Madonna song would be a little predictable. Besides, that isn't really my style. It's what Sue always has me do, because she says it appeals to the judges. It's upbeat, lively, perfect for cheer routines."

"But not your style?" Blaine asked, taking a sip of his coffee.

Kurt shook his head, studying his fingernails.

"What is?" Blaine asked.

Kurt lifted his chin a little, meeting Blaine's eyes. "I like the Beatles."

Blaine's eyebrows lifted. "Really?"

"Surprised?" Kurt asked, his mouth curving up a bit.

"No," Blaine found himself saying. And really, after the initial expected surprise at the statement... he wasn't. He could see Kurt enjoying the Beatles, especially their softer covers. "What's your favourite song?"

Kurt looked somewhat startled. "Uh. I like... Blackbird."

Blaine nodded, his brain busy matching the song with Kurt's voice. It would sound haunting, sung by Kurt. Haunting and sad and so achingly beautiful.

"So would you want to do a Beatles song, then?" Blaine asked.

Kurt hesitated. "I really like musicals, too."

That _did_ surprise Blaine. He hadn't thought Broadway was much Kurt's style. In all the information he'd collected about Kurt—for _journalism purposes—_he'd never heard or seen anything about an affinity for Broadway or musicals of any kind.

"Really?" Blaine asked, brightening a little. Maybe he could get Kurt to do something from _Singing in the Rain—_that was one of his personal favourites. "Which musical is your favourite?"

"I like the music from Wicked. I've never seen it, though," was Kurt's reply.

"Oh, it's amazing," Blaine said, sitting up straighter in his chair. "You would love it. I went to go see it in an off-Broadway production when I was younger—it was _incredible. _The effects, the storyline, the costuming and scenery and the acting—of course, I didn't see the Kristen Chenoweth and Idina Menzel performance, but the actors they had playing Elphaba and Galinda were brilliant, nevertheless."

Kurt watched Blaine go on about Wicked and Singing in the Rain and Cabaret and the millions of other musicals he had seen and memorized the score to with an almost fond smile on his face.

"What?" Blaine asked, finally, noticing Kurt's intent gaze. "Do I have something on his face?" His fingers came up to brush his chin.

Kurt opened his mouth to say something in response, but Blaine's eyes had shifted, to something over Kurt's shoulder. "Shit," he muttered under his breath.

Kurt's eyebrows rose at the expletive. "What?"

"Santana at 12:00."

Kurt twisted around to look, his eyes narrowing. "Why is she here?" he muttered.

Blaine cleared his throat. "I may have told her I was going to be here."

Kurt turned back to look at him. "Did you say you were meeting me?"

"I said we were going to be discussing the duets assignment," Blaine said, bewildered by the look on Kurt's face. He seemed almost... angry. "Aren't you and Santana friends?"

"Sometimes." Kurt drummed his fingers against the table top, then stood up, pushing his chair back. "I'll see you later Blaine, okay?"

Blaine's heart sunk. Kurt had seemed like he really _wanted_ to be there for a while—laughing, talking, sharing things about himself with Blaine.

Kurt shot him a small smile, slinging his sports bag over his shoulder and turning towards the door.

Blaine sighed, slumping forward to cradle his face in his hands, pressing his palms into his eyes.

A light touch to his shoulder made him look up.

Kurt was smiling softly down at him. "Text me about duet ideas later?"

Blaine swallowed thickly. "I—yeah," he said, clearing his throat to steady his voice. "Yeah, I'd like that."

Kurt's lips pressed together, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He reached forward, unclipping the pen from the notebook resting on the table in front of Blaine.

Whatever Blaine had been expecting, it wasn't what Kurt did next. He uncapped the pen and circled Blaine's wrist with his thumb and pointer finger, the pad of his thumb resting lightly against Blaine's suddenly-fluttering pulse point. He wrote his number in careful, bold letters across the back of Blaine's hand, leaning down to blow lightly on the drying ink.

The hairs on the back of Blaine's arms stood up.

"Text me later, okay?" Kurt asked, hesitating before he dropped Blaine's arm.

Blaine nodded, speechless.

Kurt gave him another small smile—almost shy in a way—and walked away.

Blaine pinched the bridge of his nose, attempting to control his racing heart.

Santana dropped into the seat across from him. "He is so hot for you."

"It's not like that, Santana," Blaine said, wearily, rubbing his forehead.

"I'm not just saying that, Clark Kent," Santana said, folding her arms. Her eyes were dark and serious on him. "He wants you, Blaine."

Blaine shook his head disbelievingly.

Santana smirked. Leaning forward, she took Blaine's hands. "Let me put it this way. Hummel wants to tap your virgin ass."

Blaine yanked his hands back, feeling his cheeks heat. "Don't say that, Santana."

"I'm just keeping it real," Santana said, shrugging. She met Blaine's eyes. "I'm warning you about him, Blaine. He may seem sweet and understanding and cute, but he's a Cheerio. He's just like every other person on that team. Sooner or later, he'll get you into bed, then hang you out to dry. It's what all of us do. He's no exception."

Blaine swallowed hard around the sudden dry lump in his throat. "You're wrong," he managed to say.

Santana stood up, hands going to perch on her hips. "Suit yourself, querido. I won't be the one to hold you while you cry over his prissy ass."

Blaine looked away.

Santana left.

She was wrong, Blaine thought. She was well-meaning, of course, because Santana had never been able to just _say_ that she was worried about him, but she was wrong about Kurt. Maybe he would've believed her before Kurt had sung in Glee Club, before he and Kurt had had coffee together and talked for almost an hour.

There was more to Kurt than just _that boy_.

xxxx

**To: Kurt**

Hey. It's Blaine.

**From: Kurt**

Hey! I was wondering when I'd hear from you.

**To: Kurt**

Sorry. I just got caught up with homework and stuff.

**From: Kurt**

Not a problem. Satan didn't give you too much trouble, I hope?

**To: Kurt**

Can I ask you a question?

**From: Kurt**

Of course.

**To: Kurt**

Why do you and Santana hate each other?

**From: Kurt**

We... don't hate each other.

**From: Kurt**

I think we're too similar to like each other.

**From: Kurt**

She just wants me to keep up the social order.

**To: Kurt**

And talking to me isn't keeping up the social order? That seems unfair, considering that she gets to talk to me.

**From: Kurt**

It's... different, me talking to you.

**To: Kurt**

How so?

**From: Kurt**

So... do you have any duet ideas?

**To: Kurt**

I've got a few.

xxxx

**A/N: I started writing this story thinking that the duet would be in chapter two or three. It... actually won't be for a while. All the other duet pairings are going to go first, I think. **


	3. III, Kurt

**Firstly, I am _so_ sorry, you guys. I know this chapter took way longer than it should have, but I've been swamped with school work and I got a concussion a few days ago, believe it or not. Long story - I was quite stupid and ended up whacking my head on the corner of my desk when I fainted. In any case, I finally have this chapter up and hopefully the next chapter will not take _nearly_ as long. Fingers crossed.**

**Okay, that said, I do have a few things to clear up. Some will be cleared up in this chapter (someone asked about Finn and Carole), and one will be cleared up later in this story - Santana is a bitch for a reason. I happen to love Santana in canon, so I would not just shit on her character for no reason. And I adore Klaintana, which should tell you something. **

**Now... enjoy this chapter! I don't own Glee, Klaine, etc.**

* * *

><p>Kurt dumped his bag on a chair, glancing around the kitchen. No sign of his father.<p>

"Dad?"

"In here!" his father called from the living room.

"You'll never guess what I—oh," Kurt said, stopping short in the doorway to the living room.

Three heads turned to look at him.

"Carole and Finn are over," Burt said, unnecessarily.

"I can see that," Kurt said, stiffly. "Well, I'll just be heading up to my room to get started on homework, then. Don't want to fall behind in school."

"Hey, Kurt. Hold up a minute," Burt said.

Kurt sighed, then turned back around. "Yes?" he asked, politely.

"Finn tells me you've joined the glee club."

Kurt turned his gaze to Finn, who shrank back into the cushions. "Did he." His voice was ice-cold.

"What made you decide to do that?"

"Vocal training," Kurt lied smoothly, his eyes still trained on Finn. _You'd better not tell_. "I have to be flawless if we're going to win Nationals this year. Coach wants me to strengthen my range."

"Well, I gotta say, kid, I'm impressed," Burt said, slowly. "I think it's a great idea."

"You do?" Kurt asked, uncertainly.

Burt nodded, lifting him baseball cap to rub at his head. "Cheerios is tough on you, bud. I know you're friends with the girls on the squad, but this glee thing might give you time to relax, just enjoy yourself. Finn likes glee, right?" he directed the last part of his question at Finn.

Finn started. "Oh. Yeah! It's—really great. Yeah," he finished, rather lamely.

Kurt cleared his throat. "Well, as lovely as this is, I really do need to go. I have a lot of homework tonight." He made perfunctory eye contact with Carole. "It was nice to see you again. Have a good night."

He backed out of the room, waiting until his bedroom door was closed and his face was buried in his pillow to scream in frustration.

He moved mechanically through his Yoga routine, trying his best to breath in through his nose and out through his mouth and steadfastly _not_ focusing on the barely-noticeable sound of laughter trailing light underneath his door.

When his phone buzzed, indicating he had a message from Blaine, he breathed a little more easily.

He busied himself for a few more hours, waiting until he was sure Finn and Carole were gone before emerging from his room, stomach clawing at his insides. He was ravenous, otherwise he wouldn't have come out at all, not when he knew what his dad would say when he saw him.

Burt was sitting on the couch, flipping through channels. He looked up when Kurt came into the room. "Kurt, I understand that you aren't Finn's biggest fan," he said.

Kurt arched an eyebrow.

"But you could at least _try_, buddy."

Kurt tipped his head back, swallowing hard.

"I'm trying, kid," Burt said, seriously, leaning forward to perch his elbows on his knees. "But you gotta meet me halfway, here. How come I had to find out about you joining glee club from _Finn_?"

Kurt stepped forward to sink onto the couch, curling into a ball and resting his cheek on the armrest to look at his father. "I'm sorry, Dad," he said, softly. "I only joined today. I was going to tell you."

"This about a boy?" Burt asked, gruffly. "Because I'm not ready to have that conversation yet."

"No," Kurt said, softly, his heart sinking. "Not exactly."

Burt sighed, reaching an arm out. "Hey. You know I was kidding, right? If there's a... if there's someone special in your life, I want to know about him. And meet him."

A barely-there smile crossed Kurt's face. "It isn't quite at that stage yet, Dad, I barely know him."

"What's his name?" Burt asked.

Kurt exhaled loudly. "Well, I think it's about time I grabbed something quick to eat and headed to bed, I'm exhausted." He leapt up, crossing the room to the kitchen door.

His father's voice stopped him. "Kurt."

"Yeah, Dad?"

"I'm happy for you."

For a moment, Kurt clung to the doorframe, saying nothing, feeling everything. "Yeah," he managed, finally. "Me too, Dad."

* * *

><p>He didn't see Blaine until nearly noon the next day.<p>

"I think that tomorrow, we should give our Madonna routine another try," he was saying as he closed his locker. "Now that Erin's hamstring has healed-"

"Kurt!"

He turned, his heart leaping to his throat. Blaine was waving at him from down the hall, smile bright and big on his face.

"If you'll excuse me, ladies," Kurt said. The three Cheerios Kurt had been talking to exchanged a look, giggling.

"Is that your boyfriend, Kurt?" Amy asked, her voice almost... mocking.

Kurt's eyes narrowed.

"Excuse us," Jessica said, apologetically, tugging the other two away.

Kurt shook it off, slinging his bag up higher on his shoulder and striding forward to meet Blaine, who was already headed down the hall toward him. He stopped a foot from the other boy, his face lighting up in a smile so goofily smitten that he was sure he was giving himself away. "Hi," he said, suddenly feeling ridiculously shy.

"Hi," Blaine said back, and his answering smile was brilliant.

_He_ was brilliant. Kurt's eyes couldn't help their trek down his body, taking in his polo shirt, his bowtie, his highwaters—and he _must _have liked Blaine, if his brain supplied the word "adorable" to a boy wearing dress shoes without socks.

"How are you?" Kurt asked, tucking his hands into the pockets of his letterman jacket before Blaine could see just how shaky he was. Since when did he get _nervous_ about talking to boys?

"I'm well, and you?" Blaine asked, fiddling with the strap of his bag.

"I'm fine. I was actually wondering about... rehearsal times, for our duet," Kurt said, and cursed himself mentally for how soft and unsure-sounding his voice came out.

"Yeah," Blaine said, and his quick smile made Kurt's stomach flip-flop in a surprisingly pleasant way. "D'you want to meet in the auditorium around four? It might be a little bit after, I've got newspaper after school."

"Yes," Kurt said, just as the bell rang. He cleared his throat. "Yes," he said, more firmly. "Four sounds good. I'll see you then."

"Glee," Blaine corrected. "We'll see each other in glee practice, first."

"Right." Kurt reached out to straighten Blaine's bow tie, and with a confidence he didn't think he had, said, "save me a seat?"

Blaine's grin broadened, and the sight of it made Kurt's heart curl up in a most wonderful way. "Of course."

Kurt allowed himself one more quick, subtle once over—to last him the rest of the day until glee practice—and departed.

He clenched his hands into tight fists as he walked, trying to keep a dopey smile from spreading across his face. How could _one_ conversation with Blaine leave him feeling so dreamy and over the moon?

Mercedes fell into step beside him.

Kurt felt instantly wary.

"Have you noticed the uniform you have on?" she asked, in leu of a greeting.

He glanced down at his outfit in an over-exaggerated fashion, then back up at her. "The Cheerios uniform?"

"Kurt, this isn't funny." Mercedes stopped him with a hand to his arm. "He's seriously damaging your reputation. _All_ of them are. I had to let loose on a few freshmen for calling you a _loser_ this morning. And it's only been a day. I might've been able to stop them this time, but I can't hold off the hate forever."

A knot twisted in Kurt's stomach. "Let them say what they want," Kurt said with a confidence he didn't really feel. "I'm not breaking it off with Blaine. I _really_ like him." He hated that he couldn't help the way his voice went a little higher, a little dreamier at that admission. "Why does it matter so much to you?"

"You're my best friend, Kurt," Mercedes said, a slightly wounded look in her eyes. "I care about you. Do you think I want to see you throw it all away for some boy?"

Kurt pressed his lips together in a tight smile, looking away from her. "Thank you, Mercedes, but I can take care of myself."

"I worry about you."

"Well, don't," Kurt said, sharply, and turned away from her into his math class.

* * *

><p>"Who are you partnered with?" Quinn asked from behind him. "For the duets assignment, I mean."<p>

For once, he didn't jump. He'd grown accustomed to Quinn's surprise sneak attacks. He shut his locker, and turned to face her. "You're going to have to find another partner, Quinn. Blaine asked me if I could be the other half of his duet."

She smiled sweetly. "I'm happy for you."

He narrowed his eyes at her.

"I'm serious," she insisted. "I'm not Santana, Kurt. I want both you and Blaine to be happy. And if you make each other happy, why would I stop that?"

His face softened. "Thank you, Quinn."

Quinn smiled back, placing a gentle hand on his arm. "I'll ask Rachel to be my partner."

His eyebrows shot up.

Quinn laughed. "I've... been talking to her a lot. About—Beth. And—it's strange, but she understands. And even when she doesn't, she still tries to help. She cares too much about everything, but sometimes that can be a good thing." She grinned at the expression on Kurt's face. "It's crazy, I know."

"It's definitely not the Rachel Berry I'm used to," he agreed. "She can hold her tongue long enough to listen to you?"

Quinn pinched him, and they were both laughing as they entered the choir room.

Kurt's eyes immediately searched out Blaine. He was seated towards the far right, facing away from Kurt, his bag slung over the chair beside him. As he watched, Mike leaned forward to nudge Blaine, jerking his head towards the door.

Blaine turned, and Kurt's stomach flip-flopped at the way Blaine's eyes lit up when he caught sight of Kurt. He lifted his bag off the chair beside him, gesturing for Kurt to sit down.

Kurt started forward, then hesitated, his eyes darting between Blaine and Quinn.

Quinn rolled her eyes, shoving Kurt towards the empty seat. "Go ahead, I'll be okay with Rachel."

Kurt didn't need to be told twice.

He hurried up the risers to Blaine, settling his bag underneath the chair and dusting off his uniform before turning to Blaine, heart thudding unsteadily. "Hi."

"Hi," Blaine said softly, smiling at him. "How was your day?"

Kurt sighed dramatically, flapping his hand. "Math was invented by Satan, I broke a beaker in Chemistry. The usual."

When Blaine smiled, his eyes crinkled in the corners in the most attractive way.

Kurt swallowed hard. "How was—how was your day?"

"The usual," Blaine parroted, grinning, and Kurt laughed.

Mr. Schuester walked into the choir room, clapping his hands loudly and beginning the lesson. To Kurt's surprise, Blaine leaned over to whisper in his ear. He hadn't seemed like the type to talk while a teacher was talking.

Maybe Kurt was stereotyping.

"I'm really excited about singing with you, Kurt," Blaine said softly, his breath warm against Kurt's ear, and Kurt's breath hitched ever-so-slightly. "You have a fantastic voice."

Kurt blushed, arms going to pull tight around himself. "Thank you. I can't wait to hear your voice."

There was a moment's silence, in which Kurt thought he'd said something terribly wrong, then Blaine breathed, "that's right. You haven't heard me sing yet."

"I haven't," Kurt whispered, turning his head and starting in surprise when his nose brushed Blaine's. He hadn't realized the other boy was so close to him.

"I'll sing something this afternoon." Blaine sounded almost as breathless as Kurt felt.

"Okay," Kurt breathed, frozen.

There was a long moment when neither of them moved, then Kurt quickly turned back to the front of the room, cheeks hot. After a moment, he felt Blaine follow suit.

Blaine was going to sing for him.

Just him, and nobody else.

How was he supposed to concentrate during Cheerios practice?

* * *

><p>"Where do you want me?" Kurt asked, rolling back onto his heels.<p>

"You can... just take a seat on the piano bench?" Blaine suggested, plugging in the microphone and sliding it into a microphone stand. "Or, I guess you could sit in one of the seats, but it would feel too much like a formal performance if you did that, you know? I think I'd prefer you on the stage with me."

"Of course," Kurt said, taking a seat on the piano bench.

Blaine nodded to the band, and they began to play.

Blaine took a deep breath, gripping the microphone tight between his hands. Kurt held his breath.

_Stop, the train is riding down to the station_

_Where you lived when we were school kids_

Kurt's eyebrows rose. This was not what he had been expecting. If he was completely honest with himself, he had been expecting something like Frank Sinatra or Nat King Cole, an easy-listening "crooners" sort of song, not something that was so full of energy and intensity and _life_.

_Hey, the rails are caught now_

_And I am falling down fools in a spiral_

_Round this town of steam_

Blaine's eyes were closed, his hands clutching the microphone, fingers sliding tantalizingly down the stand, knees and feet rocking in a controlled sway.

_My body tells me no, but I won't quit_

_Cause I want more, cause I want more_

_My body tells me no, but I won't quit_

_Cause I want more, cause I want more_

His voice was _incredible_. Intense, passionate, so full of pent-up _something_ that it nearly moved Kurt from his seat.

_Stop, the train is riding down to the station _

_Where I lived when I was a cool kid_

_Hey, is it my fault that the embers burn_

_down in a spiral, round your crown of thieves_

Blaine's eyes opened, landed on Kurt. Kurt swallowed hard. Blaine smiled slightly, eyes burning Kurt alive.

_My body tells me no, but I won't quit_

_Cause I want more, cause I want more_

_My body tells me no, but I won't quit_

_Cause I want more, cause I want more_

_and it rides out of town_

He was moving, taking the microphone in his hand and walking towards Kurt. He was glowing, bright in a way that nearly blinded Kurt. He _shone_.

_Oh, it's my war, it's my war, it's my war_

_His eyes are open_

_His eyes are open _

He held out his hand, and Kurt took it.

_Oh, cause I want more, I want more, want more_

_His eyes are open _

_His eyes are open _

Blaine tugged Kurt off the piano bench, pulling him close, threading their fingers together.

_My body tells me no, but I won't quit_

_Cause I want more, cause I want more_

_My body tells me no, but I won't quit_

_Cause I want more, cause I want more_

_It rides out of town..._

For a moment, they were breathing in synch, their eyes locked, palms pressed tightly together.

"You have an amazing voice," Kurt murmured, and just like that, the moment shattered.

Blaine blinked, his gaze sweeping between their bodies. He pulled away, releasing Kurt's hand, lowering the microphone. "Right. Um. Thank you."

"Of course," Kurt said, softly, feeling his stomach drop in disappointment as Blaine walked away to put the microphone back on the stand. Of course Blaine wasn't actually interested. He'd been foolish to think that just because Blaine was gay and wanted to sing a duet with him, he'd also be interested in pursuing something romantic with him. "So, you wanted to talk about possible duets?" he asked, clearing his throat when his voice came out a little too bright.

Blaine rubbed his palms against his thighs (Kurt certainly did _not_ track the movement with his eyes), crossing the stage back to Kurt. "You said you wanted to do something Broadway, right?"

"Yes," Kurt said, sitting back down on the piano, legs crossed, looping his linked fingers over one knee. "If that's okay with you."

Blaine grinned, taking a swig of water from the bottle at the edge of the stage (Kurt's eyes didn't follow the way small trickles of water slid down the sides of his mouth to his jaw and throat). "I have the perfect song."

It was nearly six when they stopped practicing long enough to check the clock. Blaine seemed truly regretful when he said, "we should probably get home."

The words spilled from Kurt's mouth before he could stop them. "Do you want to come to my house for dinner?"

For a short moment, Kurt regretted asking.

Then Blaine smiled, his eyes steady on Kurt's. "Okay," he said. "Thanks."

* * *

><p>"Dad?" Kurt called, ushering Blaine into the house and closing the door behind them.<p>

"In here." There was a shuffling noise from the living room, then Burt rounded the corner. He stopped short.

"Dad, this is Blaine," Kurt said, raising his eyebrows in warning. "He's in glee club with me. He and I have been working on a duet together as an assignment. I invited him over for dinner tonight."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Hummel," Blaine said, stretching his arm out to offer his hand to Burt.

Burt merely crossed his arms, staring stonily at the boy.

Blaine's smile dropped.

Kurt rolled his eyes. "_Dad_."

"All right, all right," Burt grumbled, reaching out to shake Blaine's hand. "It's nice to meet you, Blaine-"

"Anderson," Blaine supplied.

"Anderson." Burt shook once, firmly, then stepped back and folded his arms across his chest once more.

There was a moment of awkward silence, then Kurt said abruptly, "I think I'll go make dinner. Blaine?"

"What?" Blaine asked, and Kurt gave him a sharp look and tugged on his sleeve. "Oh, right. Of course. Dinner."

He followed Kurt into the kitchen and leaned against the counter while Kurt opened the pantry.

"Your dad seems... nice," Blaine offered.

Kurt snorted, folding his arms as he surveyed the contents of the pantry. "You mean intimidating."

"A little, yeah." Blaine scratched the back of his head in a rather adorable manner. Kurt hid his smile. "He's, uh—nothing like I pictured him."

"I inherited most of my looks from my mother," Kurt said, setting a few containers of various herbs and spices on the counter. He paused, reaching out to touch Blaine's arm. "Just be yourself, and he'll like you."

"Really?" Blaine asked, his voice a little skeptical.

"I promise. My dad is really a nice guy. And he'll like you." He patted Blaine's arm once before walking to the stove to assemble the ingredients for dinner.

"You like football, Blaine?" Burt called from the living room.

Blaine shot a quick glance at Kurt. Kurt raised his eyebrows expectantly at him.

"Uh, yes, sir," Blaine said.

"It's Burt," Burt called back, sounding amused. "Come on in and watch the game with me, then."

Blaine shot another look at Kurt. Kurt jerked his head to the door and mouthed "_go_", with a slight smile.

Blaine was out the door and into the living room in seconds.

Kurt sighed, shaking his head and turning back to the onions he was chopping up.

He only checked on them once or twice, but from what he saw, they appeared to be getting along well. It probably didn't hurt that Blaine seemed to be rooting for the same team as his father was.

Once dinner was on the table, he moved to the doorway of the living room and waited for them to notice him. The game had ended; Blaine and Burt were excitedly discussing their favourite players, the result of the game, stats from other games and players.

Kurt watched fondly for a minute, then cleared his throat.

Blaine whipped his head around to look at him, smile huge on his face, eyes bright and shiny, and Kurt's breath caught in his throat.

"Dinner," he forced himself to say, caught on the way Blaine's hair was curling around his ears, the way his glasses were slipping down his nose.

"Of course," Blaine said, leaping up. Burt was leaning back on the couch, his eyes moving between Kurt and Blaine in an almost amused way. "Do you need me to set the table?"

"Already done," Kurt said, smiling.

Blaine folded his arms. "Then I insist on doing the washing up. No protesting; you had me for dinner, it's only fair."

"You don't hear me complaining," Kurt said, grinning cheekily at him.

Blaine bounced past him into the kitchen.

Burt stood up, crossing the room to lay a hand on Kurt's arm. "I like him, Kurt," he said, quietly, and Kurt's heart swelled as he followed his father into the next room.

His father _liked Blaine_.

He had known all along that he would, of course, but hearing it from his mouth—it meant more to Kurt than he'd thought it would.

Dinner went smoothly—Kurt only caught himself staring at the way Blaine's hands moved when he was gesturing while making a point a few times, and he quickly tore his eyes away every time. Once, he caught his father's eyes momentarily after he'd been staring at the way the light in the room highlighted Blaine's hair, and blushed as Burt gave him a knowing look.

Blaine wiped his mouth on his napkin. "I should get started on the dishes if I'm ever going to get home before curfew," he said, smiling at them and standing up.

Kurt jumped up. "I'll help."

"You don't have to-" Blaine began.

"You wash, I'll dry," Kurt interrupted, reaching beneath the sink for dish detergent and a sponge. "Sound okay?"

A slow smile spread across Blaine's face. "That's—okay, sure."

Burt threw them a knowing smile before leaving the kitchen. Moments later, Kurt heard the sound of the TV, on some car show.

"I like your dad," Blaine said, after a moment of silence. "He's really nice, Kurt."

"He likes you," Kurt said, focusing on the plate he was drying. "He told me."

Blaine passed Kurt another plate, but held onto the dish until Kurt looked up to meet his eyes. His smile was gentle. "Thank you for having me for dinner, Kurt." His eyes were warm, fond on Kurt's face.

"It was my—my pleasure." Kurt cleared his throat.

Blaine's other hand came to rest on Kurt's. He squeezed it lightly.

"You're welcome any time," Kurt said, softly.

"I might have to take you up on that."

The rest of the task passed by quickly, Blaine and Kurt talking about trivial things—Glee Club, the Cheerios, the Mathletes (Kurt was more surprised by the fact that Mathletes competitions were apparently nothing like how they were portrayed in _Mean Girls_ than he was that Blaine was on the team). It was close to nine thirty when Kurt said his final goodbye to Blaine and shut the front door behind him.

He turned around with what he was sure was a ridiculously goofy smile on his face, closed his eyes, and sagged against the door.

When he opened his eyes again, Burt was standing there, an amused expression on his face. Kurt started violently. "Dad!"

"So that's the boy, huh?" his dad asked.

"That's the boy," Kurt agreed, his eyes going soft and unfocused.

Burt sighed. "Come sit with me, okay?"

Kurt's forehead wrinkled in confusion, but he followed his father to the living room, anyway.

"Sit down," Burt said, taking a seat himself.

Kurt sat, slowly, even more confused. "Dad, is something wrong?"

Burt sighed, rubbing one hand over his head. "I told you that I like Blaine, kid."

"Yeah," Kurt said, the corners of his mouth twitching up in a smile. The smile disappeared instantly as another thought occurred to him. "Did you change your mind? Because-"

"No, no, I haven't changed my mind," Burt interrupted. "I just want to know how well you've thought this through."

"What do you mean?" Kurt asked.

"I mean I know how important your reputation is to you, buddy. And you already know how I feel about that, but I'm just... I gotta say, I'm a little worried. I don't want you to get in too deep with this guy and then realize that he's more than you're willing to take on. I don't want to see either of you getting hurt."

Kurt turned the words over carefully in his mind before tucking them away in a safe place. "I've thought about that, Dad," he said, quietly. "But... Blaine is... he's special. I don't know how to describe it. Have you ever seen someone and just—you just _know_?"

"Yeah," Burt said, a soft smile on his face. "Your mom. Carole."

"It's like that," Kurt said, his hands clasping together on his lap. "I saw Blaine in the crowd at the pep rally and we made eye contact and I just—I _knew._"

Burt examined his face for a moment longer before standing up. "If you're sure."

"That's all?" Kurt asked, surprised.

Burt shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I just don't want either of you getting hurt."

"I won't hurt him," Kurt said, firmly.

He wouldn't. He couldn't.

* * *

><p><strong>The song Blaine sings is called "My Body" by Young the Giant.<strong>


	4. IV, Blaine

**Brief warning: Faberry has somehow decided to... happen in this fic. I think some of you may have guessed that it _might_ be leading in that direction, but it's pretty damn obvious in this chapter, because there's a small section from Quinn's point of view. **

**Other pairings will remain _true to canon_, except Finchel, of course.**

**Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

><p>"Faggot," Karofsky grunted, and body-checked Blaine into a locker. Blaine skidded down it, his shoulder catching on the lock, and winced as his tailbone hit the floor.<p>

"Takes one to know one," Blaine muttered bitterly, rubbing his head.

Karofsky turned slowly, his grip going white-knuckled around the cup in his hand. "What did you say?"

Blaine grimaced, pulling himself up against the lockers. "I said," he enunciated clearly, "it takes one to know one."

Karofsky's jaw clenched, his eyes furious. "I was going to drink this slushy, but you know what? I think _you_ deserve it, instead."

Blaine had just enough time to squeeze his eyes shut before the ice-cold slushy hit him, spilling down over his face, his neck, soaking his shirt and trickling into his pants.

He reached up to wipe his eyes clean.

Karofsky was smiling at him, eyes hard. "I'm not like you, fairy," he said, fiercely.

Blaine spat out a mouthful of slushy. "I'd rather be me than you."

Karofsky threw the empty cup at him. "Congratulations on converting Hummel into another rainbow-barfing fag." He shoulder-checked Blaine one more time before striding away, hands clenched into fists at his side.

"Kurt was _already gay_," Blaine bellowed after him. "Or has that fact _slipped your mind_?"

He struggled to his feet and slammed his locker shut, not bothering to lock it—anything of value that had been in it had already been stolen throughout the course of the year.

He scooped up his bag, holding it away from himself with two fingers, pushing open the door to the bathroom with one foot. He pulled his shirt off over his head, draping it over the edge of the sink, and kicked his bag into the corner to keep it from being damaged by the corn syrup.

He was halfway through rinsing out his hair when the bathroom door opened again.

He immediately froze, wary.

Quinn Fabray stood there, looking every bit like a deer in the headlights. "Why are you in the girl's bathroom?" she asked.

He ran his hands through his hair, pushing the wet curls away from his forehead. "Girls are less likely to give me a swirly if they catch me vulnerable."

Quinn winced. "Are things really that bad for you?"

"I'm gay, co-head of the glee club, president of the mathletes, and editor-in-chief of the school newspaper. What do _you_ think?" Blaine asked, sharply.

"I'm going to get Kurt," Quinn said, turning to walk back out the door.

"No." Blaine caught her arm. "This isn't his problem."

"He'd want to know."

"We aren't _dating_, Quinn," Blaine snapped. "We're barely even friends yet. I don't want him to have another thing to worry about."

Quinn examined him. "You don't want him to know that this is something that happens to you. To us."

Blaine wet a paper towel, swiping it over his neck and collarbone. "He joined Glee Club on a whim, Quinn. He doesn't really know what it's like, to be one of us. What's going to happen to him."

"He'll be fine," Quinn said soothingly, reaching out to touch his arm. "He's on the cheerios. Santana and Brittany _never_ get slushied."

"Santana and Brittany aren't _gay_!" Blaine shouted, slamming his hands down against the sides of the sink.

Quinn raised her eyebrows, the expression on her face something that wasn't quite surprise and wasn't quite amusement.

Blaine's fingers fumbled at his glasses resting on the edge of the sink, and they went clattering to the ground. He sat down on the ground, resting his head in his hands. "I just—I don't want to see this kind of thing—I don't want it to happen to him. And I know it will, because he's protected when he's on the cheerios, but-"

Quinn crouched down next to him, patting his shoulder carefully, hesitantly. After a moment, she murmured, "do you have a change of clothes?"

"In my locker," Blaine muttered.

Quinn straightened up again. "I'll get them for you."

* * *

><p>Rachel was standing at Blaine's locker when Quinn reached it. She opened her mouth to say something, alert Rachel to her presence, but Rachel looked up before she could.<p>

Quinn's stomach squirmed with _something_ at the way Rachel's face lit up when she saw her. "Quinn! Have you seen Blaine? I was supposed to meet with him to talk about our literature assignment, and-"

"He got slushied," Quinn said grimly, cutting her off.

Rachel's smile dropped. "Is—is he _okay_? Who was it?"

"I don't know, but judging by the size of the fresh bruise on his back, I would hazard a guess at Karofsky."

Rachel's face darkened. "He can't get away with that!" she said, reaching out to grab Quinn's arm, and something in Quinn jolted with a spine-tingling warmth.

She wrenched her arm away, speaking quickly to avoid addressing Rachel's look of hurt confusion. "He will, though. He's at the top of the ladder. He can get away with _anything—_I know, remember? I was there, once." She threaded her fingers together, fixing her eyes on Rachel. "There isn't that much we can do for either of them. We just have to stand up for them when we can and help them when we can't."

Rachel hesitated for a moment, then nodded, her jaw set. "Okay. What can I do now?"

"Get Kurt," Quinn said, reaching out to open Blaine's locker. "Blaine won't let me tell Kurt what happened to him, but I think he really wants Kurt right now, even if he won't admit it to me. I'm going to bring these clothes to him."

Rachel paused.

"What?" Quinn asked, piling the towel, shirt, jeans, and boxers into her arms.

"Kurt's in Cheerios practice," Rachel whispered.

Quinn rolled her eyes a little bit. "They aren't going to eat you, Rachel."

Rachel fidgeted a little bit more.

Quinn sighed, slamming Blaine's locker shut. "Look," she said, lowering her voice a little bit. "I told them to lay off of you. Santana and Brittany and Kurt will make sure nobody says anything to you, okay? The only thing you have to be scared of is Coach Sylvester."

"She doesn't scare me."

Quinn's mouth twitched up at the corners. She couldn't help it. "You're a brave girl." She curled her fingers around the clothes to keep herself from reaching out to touch Rachel's shoulder. "Now, go get Kurt."

Rachel beamed, saluted her sharply, and turned to stride off in that determined way she had that had always been far too adorable.

Quinn watched her go for a moment too long, before mentally smacking herself and heading back in the direction of the girl's bathroom.

Blaine was exactly where she'd left him, sitting on the floor, curled in on himself.

"Hey," she said, quietly, so as not to startle him.

Blaine looked up quickly. He reached for the clothes. He felt sticky and gross, and all he wanted was a shower and a change of clothes, and—Kurt.

He didn't really want to admit that part to _himself_, much less Quinn.

It was strange and _terrifying_, how much he liked Kurt. Not just in _that_ way—although that was there, too—but simply in a companionship sort of way. He had so many friends in Glee—Finn, Mike, Santana, Quinn, Rachel, Tina—but he'd never clicked with any of them as quickly as he had with Kurt. He'd never felt the sort of instant camaraderie with them as he'd felt with Kurt when the two of them had started talking.

Already, Kurt was becoming one of his closest friends, and he'd known him—really _known_ him—less than a week.

Quinn held the clothes out of his reach. "Do you think you might want to undress in the stall and clean yourself off a little more before I pass the clothes over to you?" she asked, gently.

Blaine shrugged indifferently, miles away from her.

It wasn't until he was in the stall that he realized how _cold_ he was—he'd been too focused before then on how _angry_ he was about the situation, how helpless he felt towards it and towards his feelings for Kurt and towards the way his life was moving in general to even notice anything. But now that he was thinking about it, his teeth wouldn't stop chattering. A bone-deep chill had settled into his body, and his fingers shook as his he tried to force the button of his pants out of the button-hole.

The pants were soaked at the waist and a little bit down his thighs, plastered to his skin and underwear. He made a few quiet noises of disgust as he peeled them off his legs.

Wordlessly, Quinn passed his towel under the door, one corner of it dampened with water. _Bless her_.

He peeled off his underwear, and cleaned off the parts of himself that he hadn't been willing to expose in the open area of the girl's restroom, toweling his entire body dry when he was done. He slid the towel back under the door once more, a wordless request for clothing.

He was pulling his boxers up his legs when he heard the door to the bathroom swing open, followed by some hushed voices.

"Quinn?" he asked, uncertainly, hands halting.

"It's just Rachel," she called back.

He sighed in relief, pulling his pants the rest of the way up. "Hey, Rachel."

She took a moment to respond, and when she did, her voice was strangely high-pitched. "Hi, Blaine."

He paused, his head halfway through the neckhole of his t-shirt. "What's up?"

"N-nothing!" she stammered, and he could picture her rocking back on her heels, her face an unconvincing picture of innocence. "What would—what would be up?"

He tugged at his green polo, tucking it into his highwater jeans, before running a hand through his hair. "Well, I don't know," he said, pushing the door to the bathroom stall open. "You tell-"

Kurt Hummel was standing between Quinn and Rachel, looking harried and disheveled and a little bit sweaty in his _tighttighttight_ cheerios uniform.

"-me," Blaine said, flatly.

Rachel bit her lip.

"Hi, Kurt," Blaine said.

Kurt crossed his arms. "Hi, Blaine."

"We'll, uh, let you two be," Rachel said, pinching at Quinn's elbow. The two girls backed out of the room.

Kurt and Blaine merely stared at each other for a few long moments.

"Do you want to tell me why Rachel pulled me out of Cheerio's practice early, telling Coach Sylvester that it was an emergency?" Kurt said, finally, and Blaine turned his face away, sighing.

"I'm sorry you got pulled out of Cheerio's practice early," Blaine said. "Believe me when I say I had nothing to do with it. Quinn must have sent Rachel."

"I don't _care_ about getting pulled out of practice," Kurt snapped. "I want to know what _happened_."

"Nothing."

"Because I'm sure _Quinn Fabray_ would pull me out of practice a week before Sectionals for _nothing_," Kurt said, scathingly.

"_I don't want to tell you_," Blaine snarled. Kurt's eyebrows shot up, his mouth turning downwards in a sneer, and both of them glared at each other for a long, tension-filled moment.

"I'm not going to _break_, Blaine," Kurt said, his voice icy. "Believe it or not, I'm not _actually_ made of china. I'm tougher than I look."

Blaine laughed, the noise harsh. "That's not the problem here, Kurt."

Kurt's arms curled even more closely around his chest defensively, the fabric of his uniform stretching tight over his biceps. _Now is not the time to notice that_. "What is the problem, then?"

"Why did you join Glee Club, Kurt?" Blaine asked, shoving his quickly sliding glasses back up his nose.

Kurt's mouth opened to retort before he faltered, looking uncertain.

"You don't even know, do you?" Blaine sighed, folded his own arms.

"I do," Kurt said without hesitation. "I know why."

"Do you even know what being part of the homo explosion means?" Blaine asked, bitterly.

"Don't call it that."

"Why not? The rest of the school does. Might as well get used to it—it's what they're going to call it when they taunt you about it."

"Stop it," Kurt said, quietly.

"Stop what?" Blaine was aware that his tone was bordering on hysterical, but he couldn't seem to stop himself. "Telling the truth?"

"Stop feeling sorry for yourself," Kurt said, sharply. "Stop trying to make me change my mind about this. I won't."

"Get out now," Blaine said, his hands flying up. "Kurt-"

"Blaine," Kurt cut him off. "No. Stop. I don't want to hear it anymore." His head tipped sideways, eyes calculating. "What's gotten into you?"

Blaine shoved his hands into his pockets. "Karofsky."

Kurt's jaw clenched. "What did he do?"

"Nothing," Blaine said, quickly, his voice rough. "Nothing. Just said some stuff."

Kurt's eyes were too sharp, his expression too knowing. "I have to go back to practice. Coach only gave me ten minutes."

Blaine's stomach dropped to his feet. He felt suddenly cold all over. "Oh. Okay."

"Why don't you wait for me?" Kurt suggested. "We can... talk. After practice."

"At—your house?" Blaine asked.

Kurt's expression fell a little bit. "Oh—my dad will be there, he'll make me keep my door open-"

"My house," Blaine said, before he could think about the fact that none of his friends had ever been over his house before—with good reason. "Coop won't mind."

"Coop?" Kurt asked, tongue rolling around the unfamiliar word.

"My older brother. I live with him," Blaine said.

He could tell Kurt had more questions, new questions, but they would have to wait for later. He gave Kurt a gentle push towards the door. "I'll meet you at your car at four."

* * *

><p>By the time Blaine had finished in the gym (he'd spent the better part of the last hour punching the hell out of every punching bag in the gym's tiny weight room) and headed out to the parking lot, Kurt was already waiting beside the car. He was wearing his letterman jacket, but his uniform was conspicuously absent.<p>

Blaine gave him an obvious once-over as he reached the car, raising his questioning eyes up to Kurt's.

"The polyester is awful for my skin when I'm sweaty," Kurt said in explanation, pointing to where his uniform was hanging up in the back of his car. "I try not to keep it on for too long after practice."

"Do you need to... shower, or something?" Blaine asked, a little awkwardly.

Kurt shook his head, a tiny grin on his face. "I already did, after practice."

"Oh," Blaine said, and rocked back on his heels.

Kurt's grin grew. "Shall we?" he asked, gesturing to his car.

"Oh! Yes," Blaine said, and Kurt opened the passenger's side door for him. Blaine's stomach did a funny little swoop-and-clench. "Thank you."

"Welcome," Kurt said, breezily, as if it was nothing, and crossed to the driver's side. "You're going to have to give me directions to your house."

"Of course," Blaine said, knotting his fingers together in his lap.

His house wasn't far from the school, so before long Kurt was pulling into the driveway. Blaine groaned when he saw Cooper's car sitting in front of the garage. "Cooper's home."

"Your brother?"

"Yes. Please don't listen to anything he says," Blaine said, unbuckling his seat belt. "He likes to tease me."

Kurt only looked confused as he followed Blaine up the front walkway.

"You'll see," Blaine said, and pushed open the door. "Coop? I'm home! And I brought a friend with me," he added quickly, before Cooper could say anything embarrassing about Blaine's "dreamy cheerleader crush". He never should've told Coop.

"A _friend_?" he heard Cooper exclaim from the kitchen. "You have a _friend_, Blainey! Oh happy day!"

There was a clatter of dishes in the sink, then the sound of footsteps as Cooper rounded the corner.

"This is Kurt," Blaine said. _Don't you dare_, he said with his eyes.

"Kurt, huh?" Cooper said, a shit-eating grin spreading across his face.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Kurt said, politely, holding out his hand.

Cooper grabbed it, pumping it enthusiastically. "_Delightful_ to meet you, really, Kurt, can't tell you how much-"

"_Okay_," Blaine said, loudly. "Kurt and I are going up to my room. Call me when dinner's ready, please?"

"Don't get too noisy, kids," Cooper said with a wink, and Blaine wanted to hide his face and never show it again.

Kurt waited until Blaine had closed the door to his room to speak. "Your brother seems... nice."

"My brother is a huge pain in the butt," Blaine said, flopping down on his bed. "Feel free to ignore anything he says during dinner. At least it's his night to cook so he can't be up here bugging us."

"You take turns?" Kurt asked, curiously.

Blaine shrugged one shoulder. "He works long hours, so I cook every weekday except Tuesdays—he comes home early for some reason on Tuesdays. And he cooks weekends."

He sat up, patting the bed. "C'mon."

Kurt perched on the edge of the bed beside him. "Will you tell me what happened with Karofsky?"

Blaine let out a long gust of air. "You don't really beat around the bush, do you?"

"I try to be as straightforward as possible," Kurt said simply, then waited.

Blaine sighed, kicking off his shoes and tucking his feet under his legs, turning to face Kurt. "Okay. I'll tell you. But you have to promise that you won't—go after Karofsky, or something."

"You make it sound like I'm going to be seeking revenge for your murder," Kurt tried to joke, but Blaine's face remained serious.

"I promise," Kurt said, quietly, and held out his hand, pinky raised.

Blaine eyed it, a small smile quirky his lips, before wrapping his pinky around Kurt's. He expected Kurt to pull away—instead, Kurt lowered their hands to the bed, pinkies still wrapped together. "Now, tell me what happened."

Blaine took a deep breath. _Kurt wasn't going anywhere_. "We get slushied, Kurt, did you know that?"

Kurt sighed. Blaine looked up at him.

"Yes," Kurt said, softly. "I knew that. I've never liked that, but there's only so much power I have at this school."

"It's not just that," Blaine said, softly. "I mean, it is for the girls. The guys on the football team have some twisted moral code, so the worst the girls get from them is the slushies. And name-calling, from the girls on the-" he stopped short.

"I know what the girls on the Cheerios say about the Glee Club, Blaine," Kurt said, his fingers slipping between Blaine's. "Go on."

"It's worse for people like me." Blaine curled his fingers around Kurt's. "People like us."

"Gay," Kurt said.

"Gay," Blaine repeated. "Yes."

Kurt's hand tightened around Blaine's. "What do they do to you, Blaine?"

"Dumpster-tossing," Blaine said, his eyes level on Kurt's. "Locker-checks. I was once locked in a port-o-potty for six hours." He took a deep breath. It was harder to say these things to Kurt than he'd expected it to be. The things that happened to him were common knowledge to the student body—or so he'd thought. Kurt looked like he couldn't possibly fathom how these kinds of things could happen to somebody.

"But worse than all of that," Blaine said, taking a deep breath, "is the taunting."

Kurt remained silent, his eyes brighter than usual.

"Queen, fag, queer, cocksucker, fairy," Blaine listed off in one breath. "They accuse you of ogling them in the locker rooms, they call you a pervert and a freak and s-say they wish you were dead."

"Blaine-"

"That's what they're going to call you, Kurt." Blaine's voice was barely above a whisper. "You think you're protected because you're on the Cheerios? You might have been, before. When Sue and the rest of the girls were all there to look out for you. You think they're _happy, _now that you've joined the Glee Club?"

"They're my friends," Kurt whispered, his voice cracking.

"They're shallow," Blaine said, bluntly. "Do you really think they'll still have your back now that you've joined 'homo explosion'? What about Sue? How happy do you think she is that you joined Will Schuester's league?"

Kurt opened his mouth, then closed it again, his brow furrowing slightly.

"You need to think about this, Kurt," Blaine said, gently. "If you really want to do this. If you really thought it through."

"I did," said Kurt, instantly.

Blaine let out a startled laugh. "You joined on a whim."

"Maybe," Kurt said, yanking his hand out from under Blaine's. "But that _whim_ came from somewhere, Blaine. I _did _join Glee for a reason, not just because I was bored."

Blaine crossed his arms. "And what reason was that?"

Kurt's eyes drifted downwards, away from Blaine's. He laced his fingers together. "I—I was never really _happy_ with myself." His voice was stilted, quiet. "I can't quite—I like the girls well enough, and they like me, but—did you know that I don't have a best friend?"

"Mercedes-" Blaine said, but Kurt cut him off.

"Mercedes and I see each other a lot, but—do you really think that makes a best friend, Blaine?" Kurt's smile was sad. "I don't have anyone who—who I can talk to, who _gets_ it, gets _me_."

Blaine wanted to say it. He wanted to _desperately_.

"And being in Glee, being a part of this—it makes me feel... that. In a way that I never have with the Cheerios." Kurt tilted his head back up, his eyes meeting Blaine's. "So. If that's the price I have to pay for my own happiness, then—so be it."

Blaine let out a long breath. "Okay."

"Okay?" Kurt's tone seemed a little bit surprised.

Blaine nodded. "Okay. I can't stop you from being a part of Glee. Especially if you know and have recognized the dangers and still for some reason want to be part of this."

"I do," Kurt said, softly, and when their eyes met, something twisted hard in Blaine's stomach at the expression in Kurt's sea-foam eyes.

He coughed, wrenching his eyes away from Kurt. "Um—would you like to stay for dinner? I think Coop's making stir-fry something."

Kurt hesitated for a second, then shook his head. "No, I think I should probably go home. I'm sure my father's wondering about me."

Blaine walked him to the front door, offering him a quick squeeze of the hand (causing another sharp jolt through his stomach) before closing the door behind him.

Cooper appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, drying his hands with a dishtowel, his expression serious for once. "Kurt not staying for dinner?"

"No," Blaine said quietly, turning to his brother. "He had to be somewhere."

Cooper eyed Blaine critically. "Everything okay?"

A softness settled over Blaine. He smiled. "Everything's fine."

* * *

><p><strong>A big thanks to rayychel infinity and chocolate6969 for being my wonderful and supportive betas for this fic.<strong>


	5. V, Kurt

**Thank you very much for your patience, everyone! This is a really stressful time for me-finals are quickly approaching-so I know I haven't updated in a while and I sincerely apologize for that! The chapters seem to be getting longer and longer, though, so hopefully that makes up for that.**

**On a different note, how excited are all of you about A. Chris Colfer premiering SBL at Tribeca (my baby, I'm so proud of him), and B. The Klaine storyline coming up in next Tuesday's episode? (If you don't know what I'm talking about, I won't give anything away! I don't want to spoil anyone). **

**Also, I apologize for anyone being turned off by the surprise!Faberry (I didn't get any messages that anyone was, but you never know). I think I should probably warn ahead of time that nearly all of the canon couples will be included in this fic: Sam/Mercedes, Sugar/Rory (possibly), Brittany/Santana, Will/Emma (although I don't personally ship it), Tina/Mike. However, some couples will play a bigger role than others ;)**

**Okay, enough with that, on with the chapter. I don't own Kurt, Blaine, Glee, Darren, or Chris (as always... sigh), but please enjoy this chapter! And of course, as always, let me know what you think.**

* * *

><p>"Who's up first?" Mr Schuester asked, leaning back against the piano (Brad glared at him).<p>

Kurt glanced at Blaine. Blaine shook his head, very slightly. "_We're not ready_," he mouthed. After a moment, Kurt nodded in agreement. Being on the Cheerios with Sue Sylvester for three years had taught him to never settle for anything less than perfection. And he and Blaine weren't quite perfect yet.

Quinn raised her hand. "Rachel and I will go, Mr. Schue," she said. Mr. Schue's eyes widened a little bit, but he nodded and the two girls rose from their chairs.

There was a prickling along the back of Kurt's neck—it felt like someone was watching him. He turned his head slightly, let his eyes drift up and over his shoulders.

Santana's hard black eyes were fixed on him, cold and accusing.

His stomach twisted sharply, and he turned his eyes away, swallowing hard and focusing back on Rachel and Quinn.

He didn't know why Santana had taken such issue with him. Why she was so convinced that he was going to hurt Blaine.

Two nights ago, he'd stood in Blaine's bedroom while Blaine looked at him with earnest, pleading eyes and promised himself that he would never, _ever_ do anything to hurt him. He couldn't. There was so much Blaine had to go through, so much he'd already been through, so much he hadn't yet told Kurt, and Kurt knew that he wouldn't—couldn't—do anything to hurt him.

Quinn was seated behind the piano, fingers poised over the keys, eyes fixed on Rachel. Rachel gestured to the band to begin.

The intro to the song was jazzy—something Kurt recognized, but couldn't quite put a finger on. He snuck a glance at Blaine.

Blaine _definitely_ knew it. Kurt didn't know why he was surprised at that. The other boy's palms were slapping against his thighs, keeping rhythm to the beat of the song. He caught Kurt's eye and grinned, bobbing his head in a dorky little dance. Kurt grinned, flushing, and ducked his head again, breaking eye contact.

Rachel leaned against the piano, smiling at Quinn.

_What a day this has been, what a rare mood I'm in_

_ Why, it's almost like being in love_

_ There's a smile on my face for the whole human race_

_ Why, it's almost like being in love_

Quinn was gazing at her fondly, the expression on her face softer than one Kurt had ever seen her give _anyone_ before, even Finn when they'd been dating. Even Puck, after Beth had happened.

She opened her mouth to join Rachel, their voices blending prettily.

_All the music of life seems to be _

_ Like a bell that is ringing just for me!_

Quinn took the next verse alone, sliding over to let Rachel sit beside her at the piano.

_And from the way that I feel when that bell starts to peel_

_ I would swear I was falling_

_ Swear I was falling_

_ Why, it's almost like being in love_

Rachel leapt up, tugging Quinn up with her and joining her voice.

_The music of life seems to be_

_ Like a bell that is ringing just for me!_

_ And from the way that I feel when that bell starts to peel_

_ I would swear I was falling_

_ Swear I was falling_

_ Why it's almost like being in love..._

The girls trailed off, smiling at each other, and the music faded.

_Unfair_, Kurt thought, a little bitterly. Two girls could sing a song about _being in love_ with each other, complete with flirty smiles and not one person would say a thing—in fact, everyone in the choir room was standing up and clapping for them.

Then he looked around the room.

Puck was looking at the girls with a pained expression on his face, one that was achingly similar to the one on Finn's face.

Santana looked distraught, her mouth a tight line on her face, her eyes older than her sixteen years.

Kurt's eyes wandered back to the front of the room, and it clicked.

_Rachel and Quinn_. Of course.

How had he not noticed the way Quinn looked at Rachel?

The two girls had eyes only for each other, not noticing the varying reactions to their duet. And then something shifted, and Quinn's eyes darted away, her posture stiffening. Rachel's expression fell, her eyes dimming.

Kurt's throat tightened.

He knew that expression.

Quinn was the first to leave the room, avoiding eye contact with everyone around her. Santana was next, wrenching her arm away from Brittany's pleading, outstretched hand. Slowly, the number of people in the room dwindled.

Kurt stayed sitting, his eyes locked on Rachel.

Blaine shot a quick glance between the two of them, then reached over to gently rest his fingers on Kurt's knee. "I'll wait for you by your car?"

Wordlessly, Kurt passed him the keys.

Blaine shouldered his bag and left, passing one last glance at Rachel as he slipped out the door.

Rachel sniffled, wiping under her eyes, then looked around. Her eyes widened when she realized that she and Kurt were the only two left in the room, and she ducked her head, moving quickly towards the door.

Kurt stood, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "Rachel, wait," he said, gently, reaching out to catch her arm.

She turned to look at him, eyes bright, arm tugging away from his grasp.

"How long?" he asked.

She laughed, bitterly, her eyes cast downward. "Remember when Quinn joined the Cheerios?"

Kurt wracked his brain. "Yes." First week of sophomore year. He and Mercedes had followed her footsteps a week later.

"That long," Rachel said, softly, and wiped under her nose. She took two steps back, into the hallway. Kurt followed her.

Oh. Oh god. Poor Rachel. Her eyes were wet, eyelashes clumped together in tiny triangles, and Kurt had no idea what to _do_.

He reached out a hand, gingerly patting her on the shoulder. He'd never really been one for touching—the only person he ever hugged was his father. To his utter surprise, Rachel collapsed into his arms, her arms winding around his waist, hands clinging to the back of his shirt.

Kurt swallowed, hard, then brought his arms up around her shoulders. "I thought—Finn-" he said.

Rachel shook her head, her eyelashes leaving wet trails behind on his neck. "No. No. I thought that too, but-" there was a hitch in her breathing; a small sob escaped her. She choked a little into his shoulder, took a deep breath. "How could I want _him_ when _she _was there?"

A week ago, Kurt would have rolled his eyes at her and passed her off as being melodramatic. Now, however, he could almost understand how she felt, the hopelessness of feeling so strongly with someone who wouldn't—couldn't—feel the same way. At least he stood a small chance with Blaine. But Quinn—Quinn Fabray was (at least to the public eye) completely and depressingly straight.

He held Rachel a little more tightly.

"So how long for you?" she asked, her voice muffled by his shirt, but he heard each word as if she'd shouted them.

"What?" he asked, forcing his grip not to tighten, forcing his voice not to waver.

"With Blaine. How long?"

"Rachel, I've only known him for a week," he said, stiffly, beginning to pull away from her, eyes scanning the hallway for snooping gossipmongers.

"That doesn't mean anything," Rachel said, reluctantly letting him go and threading her fingers together behind her back.

Kurt crossed his arms in around himself, holding himself together, pulling himself away. "I'm not talking about this with you, Rachel, we're not even _friends_."

"We could be," Rachel said, her expression so earnestly hopeful that it actually hurt Kurt's chest to look at her directly. "You need people other than Blaine as a support system, Kurt."

"I have-"

"The Cheerios?" the sympathy in Rachel's eyes was too much. He lifted his chin, eyes icy, a retort ready on the tip of his tongue. She reached out to brush her fingers against his forearm. "How long do you think they'll be around for you if you begin dating Blaine? How long were they around for Quinn? You need people on your side, Kurt."

"I don't," Kurt said, but his voice was flat and unconvincing, nothing like the cold tone he'd always used to shoot people down before. Before... before he met Blaine.

Rachel's eyes were wide, pleading.

Kurt sighed. "Okay," he said, softly. "Yes."

Rachel clapped her hands, beaming through the tears still gathered in her eyes. "I'm going to hug you now, okay?"

Kurt rolled his eyes, but was unable to stop the smile from spreading across his face. Rachel hopped forward, flinging her arms around his neck. He hugged her back, a little less hesitantly than before, and buried his face in her hair to hide his smile.

* * *

><p>Blaine was sitting in the passenger's seat, his fingers drumming nervously on the dashboard when Kurt pulled the driver's side door open.<p>

Kurt reached over to touch his shoulder. "You okay?"

"How'd it go?" Blaine asked, turning wide eyes on Kurt.

Kurt let out a long, shaky breath, unable to stop his mouth from curling up into a grin. "It's Rachel," he said, wryly. "What do you think?" He slid into the car, tapping a finger against the metal of Blaine's seatbelt buckle. "Buckle up."

Blaine did so, twisting in his seat to face Kurt. "Is she okay?"

Kurt didn't answer for a long moment, choosing instead to shift his car into reverse, looking over his shoulder as he backed out of the parking spot. He shifted back to drive. "I think we're friends now," he said finally.

Blaine's eyebrows shot up. Kurt snuck a little glance out of the corner of his eye, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.

"I can honestly say I didn't see that coming," Blaine said. "But it doesn't really... surprise me, now that I think about it."

Kurt made a small, inquisitive noise.

Blaine shrugged; Kurt caught it in the rearview mirror. "You two are not as different as you might think."

Kurt shot him a quick glance. "I've noticed you don't spend a lot of time with her."

"No," Blaine said. "She gets a little... abrasive at times."

"You spend a lot of time with me," Kurt said. It wasn't a question.

"Yes," Blaine said, softly.

Kurt pulled onto his street. "Am I... not abrasive?"

"_No_," Blaine said firmly. "No. You're—you're like Rachel, but you aren't her clone. You're a different person, too. Your own person."

Kurt pulled into his driveway, switching off the ignition. "Do you think I'm unfriendly?" he asked, his voice startlingly loud in the sudden silence.

Blaine blinked. "No. You've always been friendly to me."

Kurt unbuckled his seatbelt, fidgeted a little. "You're different."

"Why am I different?" Blaine's voice was tinged with a little bit of hope.

Kurt turned his head, gaze raking across Blaine's face. "I don't know." That was untrue. "I think... you might be my best friend." That _was_ true. He laughed, sharp and bitter. "Isn't that pathetic?"

"No," Blaine breathed, his gaze unwavering, his eyes bright and warm. "I think you might be my best friend, too."

Kurt laughed softly, trying to ignore the sharp jolt through his shoulders and chest at Blaine's words.

"C'mere," Blaine said, his voice a little unsteady, reaching his arms out. Kurt leaned over the center console, allowing Blaine to wrap his arms around him and bury his face in Kurt's neck.

Kurt stayed impossibly still, willing himself to not focus on the warm breath on his neck, the shifting muscles of Blaine's back against his palms, the weight of Blaine's head against his shoulder.

"_Pretty pretty please,_" Blaine sang, his voice breathy and half-teasing and muffled by Kurt's shoulder, "_don't you ever ever feel like you're less than, less than perfect..."_

A chill went down Kurt's spine, a shudder of something deep and dizzying and _terrifying_. Suddenly, the whisper of Blaine's breath against Kurt's neck was too much. He forced himself to pull back, away from the warmth of Blaine's body, and smiled shakily, feeling like his world had suddenly tilted. "We should... we should practice."

"I thought we were," Blaine said, bumping Kurt's elbow with an easy smile. "Or, at least, I was." Their hands slid over each other's, and something somersaulted in Kurt's chest at the way Blaine hesitantly linked their fingers together, sliding their hands palm-to-palm.

Their eyes met, Blaine's searching. "_Is this okay_?" they seemed to ask.

Kurt smiled, squeezed Blaine's hand. "C'mon," he said, letting go and reaching for the car door. "We need to rehearse."

He held the door open for Blaine, trying hard not to blush at the way Blaine smiled at him when he did so, and followed Blaine into the house.

Kurt's shoulders stiffened, immediately.

Finn was sitting on the couch, absorbed in a football game playing on the television. From the dining room, Kurt could hear the faint sounds of his father's voice and a woman's laugh.

"Hey, Finn!" Blaine said, beaming and bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Kurt didn't tell me you guys were friends!"

"We're not," Kurt said, sharply, before Finn could speak.

Finn's face fell the smallest amount. "Our parents are dating," he said, sheepishly, avoiding eye contact with Kurt. "I—uh, sometimes tag along when Mom goes to see Burt."

Something unpleasant twisted in Kurt's stomach at the way his father's name fell from Finn's lips—casual, easy, like they were _friends-_

He grabbed Blaine's hand; out of the corner of his eye, he saw Blaine shoot him a confused look. "Come on, Blaine," he said, his eyes still narrowed the smallest amount, chin high, posture stiff. "My room's in the basement. We can rehearse there."

Blaine let Kurt tug him downstairs without much resistance, waving goodbye to a confused-looking Finn.

Kurt released Blaine at the bottom of the stairs, busying himself with the stereo next to his bed.

Blaine watched him for a long moment; Kurt could feel his eyes burning into the back of his neck.

"_What?_"

"Kurt," Blaine said, softly. It was a reprimand.

Kurt's shoulders sagged, the fight leaving him. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, and turned, hands gripping the edge of his dresser. "I don't even know why it gets to me, him being here, it just _does_."

Blaine tilted his head. For someone so supposedly oblivious, his eyes were far too understanding and tender and it just _hurt_. Kurt ducked his head.

"Hey," Blaine said, gently. "I get it."

Kurt snorted, shaking his head.

"I do." Blaine reached out a hand, then dropped it limply back to his side when Kurt did nothing. "You're used to being the only one in your dad's life. It's tough to adjust to this kind of thing."

Kurt sighed, staring up at the ceiling. He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and blinked hard a few times, willing the wateriness in his eyes away before he spoke. "It just—it's so _easy_ for him and Dad and it just seems so unfair to me, because it's so hard for he and I to relate to each other. We have to _schedule_ time together, and he and Finn can just fall into watching football or talking about sports and Mellencamp and—I don't know, flannel shirts—together. That'll never be _me_."

He hadn't heard Blaine approach him, hadn't noticed until Blaine's hand stroked his back tentatively. "You think he doesn't know that isn't you?"

"I think he wishes it was." Kurt laughs, but there's no humor to it.

"I disagree," Blaine said, his voice quiet.

"You don't even _know _him," Kurt snapped, wanting immediately to take back the harsh words.

"No," Blaine said, after a moment's silence. "I don't. But I know you. And I know what you're like. And I've seen the way you and he act around each other. You two have an amazing relationship." His voice came out a little bitter.

Kurt's heart clenched.

"He loves you," Blaine said, his hand rubbing gentle circles across Kurt's shoulder blades. "You're not being replaced."

Kurt sniffed, reaching for a tissue. He turned away from Blaine to blow his nose. "It feels like it, a little bit."

"I know." Blaine's voice was soothing. "Have you thought about talking to him about it?"

Kurt laughed.

"I'm serious," Blaine protested. "This is something you should communicate with him about."

Kurt bit his lip. After a moment, he looked over at Blaine. "Thank you," he said, giving him a small smile.

Blaine appeared genuinely startled. "What for?" he asked.

Kurt chose not to answer. "Would you like to say hello to my dad?" he asked, standing up and offering a hand to Blaine.

Blaine hesitated. "Hear me out on one more thing, first?"

Kurt gave a long-suffering sigh, rolling his eyes. "Fine," he said.

Blaine cracked a smile. "Give Finn a chance, please? He's a little slow, but he really is a good guy. When he's not exercising his jerkiness."

"That sounds promising," Kurt said, drily.

Blaine took his hand, laughing, and let Kurt lead him from the room.

"Dad?" Kurt called, once in the hall.

"In here." His father's voice came from the dining room, and was followed by the sound of a woman muffling laughter. Kurt clenched Blaine's hand a little more tightly.

"Kurt?" Blaine whispered.

Kurt looked at him.

"You might want to let go of my hand before we go in there," he suggested, cheeks darkening. "Your, uh. Your dad might get the wrong idea."

"Oh!" Kurt said, eyes widening, and he immediately dropped Blaine's hand.

Blaine coughed, bringing his hand up to his mouth and ducking his head to hide his blush.

"Dad?" Kurt asked, his eyes determinately avoiding Carole's presence. "You remember Blaine, right?"

"I do," Burt said, standing up and reaching out his hands. "Nice to see you again, Blaine."

Blaine elbowed Kurt subtly on his way to reaching his hand out to shake Burt's. "It's a pleasure to see you, sir."

"Burt is fine," Burt said, his eyes searching.

"And it's nice to see you again, Mrs. Hudson," Blaine said, politely, reaching out a hand in her direction.

Carole beamed, standing to hug him. "_Carole_, Blaine, I've told you before." She released him with another brilliant smile. Blaine moved back to stand beside Kurt once more, and elbowed him once more.

"Hi, Mrs. Hudson," Kurt murmured, trying his best to sound as if he was truly enthusiastic about her and her son's presence in his house.

"Hi, Kurt," Carole said, softly, unable to hide her delighted smile.

"We're going to go practice in the basement." Kurt directed his words at his father.

"Door open," Burt said, his face stern.

"Dad," Kurt said, crossing his arms and fixing him with a glare. "Blaine and I are not dating, we are _just friends_, and we are about to go down to the basement to practice our duet for glee club, probably very loudly."

Finn snorted loudly from behind them. "_Duet,_" he whispered.

Kurt fixed a glare on him, and he shrunk back.

"Dad," Kurt appealed, looking back towards him. For a moment, he and his father simply looked at each other. He could see the conflict in his dad's eyes—gay son, unsure of proper parenting technique, gay son having a _boy _in his room for the first time, a _gay_ boy-

"Fine," Burt said finally, arms folded across his chest.

Kurt straightened, his chin tipped up in a way that Blaine was learning that meant he was trying not to preen. "Can Blaine stay for dinner?"

"Might as well," Burt grunted, waving them both off.

"Your dad doesn't like me," Blaine whispered as they headed back down the stairs to Kurt's room.

Kurt waved a hand. "Of course he does. All of this intimidation business is about _me_, not you. Look at you."

Blaine looked at himself. "What about me?"

Kurt laughed, reaching out to run a finger just under Blaine's collar (and where had _that_ come from, anyway? Kurt didn't even really touch people, much less flirt with them). "Have you seen yourself, Blaine? You don't exactly look like the virtue-stealing type. You wear bowties and glasses and gel your hair and call my father 'sir'."

Blaine looked put out. "I could be the virtue stealing type," he said, a little grumpily.

Kurt patted Blaine lightly on the chest (_wow, he's got really well-defined muscles_), and stood up. "I'd take it as the blessing it is, Blaine." He turned to his stereo, scrolling through his ipod until he found the right song. "Ready to practice?"

* * *

><p>Dinner was awkward.<p>

Burt was quiet as always, tucking into his food the moment Kurt put it down in front of him. He preferred to listen rather than talk, which ordinarily Kurt was okay with, because he preferred to talk. But he was trying to make Blaine more comfortable, trying to make him feel welcome in their home, and Burt was not helping. He cleared his throat, giving the table at large a meaningful look.

Carole coughed, unfolded her napkin. "So, Blaine. How are your parents?"

Kurt winced internally.

"They're fine, thank you," Blaine said stiffly, and Kurt kicked his father under the table.

"I seem to remember you liking football, Blaine?" He grunted, looking up from his food.

Blaine looked at Kurt. Kurt smiled encouragingly.

"Yes," Blaine said, smiling tentatively at Burt. "I'm actually on the school newspaper, and when I joined my freshman year I asked the editor-in-chief if I could take all of the football games."

"Blaine is editor-in-chief now," Kurt said, unable to keep the note of pride out of his voice.

Burt's eyebrows shot up. "How old are you, kid?"

Blaine's ears reddened. "I'm a sophomore, sir."

"Burt," Burt reminded him. "You're a year younger than Kurt, then."

"I am, yes," Blaine said.

"He's the youngest editor-in-chief in McKinley history," Kurt said, squeezing Blaine's hand where it rested on the table and beaming at him.

Blaine blushed, ducking his head. "How did you know that?" he whispered, smiling shyly.

"I did my research," Kurt whispered back, threading his fingers through Blaine's, heat creeping up the back of his neck and staining his cheeks dark red.

The sound of Finn's chair scraping back broke them out of their moment. Blaine looked away quickly, blushing all the way up to the roots of his hair.

"Can I watch the game, Mom?" Finn asked.

"Put your plate in the dishwasher," Carole answered, and there was the scraping of dishes and cutlery.

Kurt took a moment to collect himself, tracing the designs on his placemat with his eyes, then looked up.

His dad was staring at him, and indecipherable expression on his face. It shook Kurt a little, but he couldn't quite place his finger on why. He stood up, averting his eyes. "Would you like to watch the game too, Blaine?"

"I'd love to," Blaine said, immediately, standing up and gathering his dishes.

"Dad?" Kurt asked.

"Give me and Carole a moment?" Burt asked, the expression in his eyes gone, replaced with something lighter, happier.

"Sure," Kurt said, and without thinking, placed his hand on the small of Blaine's back to steer him from the room.

It wasn't until much later that night that Kurt understood the look on his father's face.

He'd walked Blaine out to his car, watching until he drove away before turning back to the house. Burt was standing in the window, his face once again pulled into that expression Kurt couldn't quite place.

It was a few minutes later that the door closed behind Carole and Finn, and Burt turned to look at Kurt.

"Well," Kurt said, yawning a little, "it's been a long day, I think I'll-"

"Take a seat," Burt said, nodding towards the kitchen table.

Slowly, Kurt sat.

"You're not in trouble, Kurt," Burt said, taking the seat across from him.

Kurt let out a relieved sigh.

"I-" Burt rubbed his hand over his face. "You and this Blaine kid. You're close?"

"He's my best friend, Dad," Kurt said, and he couldn't stop the soft, silly smile that spread over his face. "I thought you said you liked him?"

"I do, kid," Burt said, but his face looked a little pained. "And you're his... his best friend, too?"

"Yes," Kurt said, "and Dad, I listened to what you said. I thought about it. And I talked to him, too. Both of us are willing to make compromises in order to be—to be together."

"Together?" Burt asked, his mouth tightening.

"Friends, Dad," Kurt reminded him.

"Friends," Burt repeated, looking unconvinced. The expression from before was back—the strangest mix of pain and love and fondness and worry. He cleared his throat. "And how long have you been in love with him?"

It was like he'd gone suddenly from swinging through the air to being on the ground, breath knocked out of him. "What?" he managed, his chair screeching back from the table.

His father's eyes were caring, sympathetic.

Kurt tried to laugh, to ignore the frantic, rabbit-quick beat of his heart. "I've only known him for a week, Dad."

"I knew the moment I saw Carole," Burt said. "Hummel men fall hard and fast. I've been waiting for the day you would."

Kurt felt cold, unsteady. "I'm not—I'm _sixteen_-"

"And in love," his dad said, simply.

Kurt shook his head, standing up, clenching his sweaty hands behind him. "I'm not—Dad. Please. Stop."

His dad didn't say anything, didn't move or try to make him stay as he left the room.

Downstairs, he sank slowly onto his bed, hands balled into fists and shoved against his eyes.

He _couldn't_, he _couldn't_ be in love with Blaine, he'd known the boy for _one week_ and despite how close they'd gotten, he just _couldn't_. Being in love was too terrifying, too scary, too much of a loss of control for him to handle. He couldn't just _give_ his heart over like his father could, he couldn't just hope that Blaine wouldn't toss it aside carelessly. He couldn't even think of the ways that other people would be able to hurt him with this, much less the ways that _Blaine _could hurt him with this.

His eyes felt hot.

Kurt had always liked control. Control of himself, control of those around him, control of his grades and his body and his _heart_, and up until he'd met Blaine Anderson, the last had been the thing he'd always had the most control of.

He'd given up so much control to be friends with Blaine. He'd given up control of his social life, the safety of being on the top of the heap, the safety of choosing friends who he cared about, but not so much that it hurt to see them in pain.

He'd already given so much control to Blaine. He couldn't give this to him, too.

* * *

><p><strong>The next chapter will hopefully be up within the next week and a half. Thank you for sticking with me, I appreciate it so much!<strong>


	6. VI, Blaine

**It's my understanding that some stories on this site have been being taken down for curse words/inappropriate formatting/sexual storylines. This story only contains one of those things, but I believe the curse words I use are necessary for the storyline, so we'll see what happens. I don't think this story in particular is at huge risk of removal, but I could be wrong. If that does happen, I am working on moving all of my fics over to live journal and later possibly AO3. Links to both are on my profile.**

**I'd also like to apologize for the lateness of this chapter. I've been working 13 hour days at work in order to pay off my college loans (tuition rates just keep rising), and my only days off so far have been this past weekend, when I asked for four days off to recover from oral surgery. So I was high on vicodin for the entirety of this chapter. My betas assure me that the chapter makes sense, so I'm going to take their word for it. **

**(On a completely different note, is anyone going to/has anyone been to the Apocalytour? I'm going on Saturday and I couldn't be more excited!)**

* * *

><p>"Hey, faggot," Karofsky said as he passed, shoulder-checking Blaine into his locker. Blaine hit the metal hard, teeth biting into his lip as he fell. Karofsky glanced over his shoulder, smirking, as he walked away.<p>

_Just a minute_, Blaine thought. _Just one minute and then I'll get up and continue with my day like nothing happened. Like I do every day_.

He was starting to get tired of the charade.

"Are you okay?"

Tina was standing in front of him, her eyes concerned, her hand stretched out towards him.

"Yeah," he said, forcing a smile as he took it.

He and Tina had never really been close. They were both sophomores—the only sophomores in Glee club besides Artie and Sam, actually—but for some reason, they'd never talked much. She was dating Mike, who Blaine was a little bit closer to, so they'd exchanged friendly smiles and words once in a while, but...

"Locker checks can be rough," she said, sympathetically.

Blaine reached up to his mouth to swipe a droplet of blood away from his lip. "You're telling me," he agreed.

Tina hesitated. "Look, I know we all get our fair share of locker checks and dumpster tosses and slushies. It kind of goes with the territory of Glee club. But what Karofsky's doing to you... it seems like he's targeting you specifically."

"He's not," Blaine said, shortly.

Tina studied his face. Her concerned expression was almost too much for him to handle, and he turned away. "I have class."

"American Lit," Tina said, promptly.

Blaine glanced at her, warily.

"I'm in your class," she reminded him. "You sit in the front, I sit in the back. That's probably why you don't remember."

"Oh," Blaine said softly, reaching into his still-open locker to grab his lit book. "I'm sorry, I just-"

"You like to focus in class," Tina said, closing his locker for him. "You don't have to apologize for that. Mike's the same way."

They began to walk, slowly. Blaine's hip ached where it had banged into the locker.

"Promise me something?" Tina asked, as they reached the door to their American Literature classroom. "If it gets too bad, or even worse than it already is in any way at all, please tell somebody?"

Blaine's lips curled downwards in a slight frown.

"It doesn't have to be Mr. Schue," Tina said. "God knows he doesn't exactly do much of anything to help us out now. But... Kurt, or Santana, or Rachel. Somebody, okay? I know you and I aren't exactly friends, but I'm always here if you need me."

Blaine blinked.

He wasn't really accustomed to people just being kind to him, no ulterior motives or hidden agenda or bitter, sarcastic cynicism cutting out the true meaning of what they were saying. Santana was great, but she had always shielded affection with insults and condescension, and lately she had been distant and sad. Quinn nearly always had an ulterior motive to her kindness. Rachel was wonderful, but ambitious, sometimes tactless, and often selfish.

Tina was standing there, simply being kind.

Blaine wondered again why they weren't really friends.

"I will, Tina. Thank you."

Blaine set his books down on his usual desk, looking up in surprise when Tina set down her bag at the desk next to him.

"You don't mind, do you?" she asked.

He found he didn't.

* * *

><p>Kurt was standing by his locker when he finally left the American Lit classroom, having stayed behind to speak to his teacher. He stopped, blinking a little.<p>

He hadn't seen Kurt at all yet that day, and he had to admit that it was a little bit jarring to see Kurt out of his uniform at school.

Kurt bit at his lip, pulling himself away from the locker and straightening up. "Hi."

"Hi," Blaine said, feeling irritatingly breathless at the way Kurt's lip slid from between his teeth, pink and wet and full. At the way Kurt's eyelashes fluttered over blue-gray eyes, at the way his nose crinkled in the most adorable way when he smiled.

"Are you busy after school today?"

Glee practice had been canceled for the day, the official reason being that Mr. Schue had a dentist's appointment. The unofficial, but widely acknowledged reason was that he was confronting the World's Hottest Dentist about the nature of his relationship with Emma. Dr. Howell had only been into Glee Club once to talk about oral hygiene, but Blaine could see why Miss Pillsbury had chosen him over Mr. Schuester.

"Do you want to practice for our duet again?" It was in two days, and Blaine knew that Kurt was nervous about it, even if he tried to hide it.

"I had something a little bit different in mind." For some reason, Kurt looked _nervous_, worrying his lip between his teeth once more. "Cheerios practice got canceled today—Coach Sylvester said that she wanted to go to the dentist's too so she could laugh at Mr. Schuester."

Blaine blinked, his mouth rounding into a little 'o' of surprise.

"So I was thinking that we could do something," Kurt said, his cheeks pinkening. He didn't meet Blaine's eyes, choosing instead to focus on what was apparently a particularly interesting patch of wall behind Blaine's head.

"Sure!" Blaine said, cheerfully, although he was certain that Kurt could hear his heartbeat from where he stood. "What did you have in mind? Did you want to head to the Lima mall?"

"No," Kurt said, quickly. "Santana and her posse will be hanging out around there and I would rather not be around them, if at all possible."

"Santana isn't that bad if you get to know her, Kurt," Blaine protested, mildly.

"She's a good friend to you, Blaine," Kurt said, his eyes cool as they met Blaine's. "I won't argue that. But she doesn't like me, and she doesn't like me hanging around you. She's made her view on that very clear. I'd rather not fan the fire of her wrath, if you don't mind."

"Of course not," Blaine said, properly chastised. "Then what should we do?"

Kurt bit his lip again. "How do you feel about archery?"

Blaine blinked, taken aback. That was not at all what he'd expected. "Archery?"

"Yes, Blaine." Kurt sounded a little exasperated. "You know, a bow and arrow? You shoot the arrow at targets?"

"Also known as toxophily, first introduced into the Olympics in 1900, one who practices is typically known as an archer or bowman. I know what archery is, Kurt." Blaine ran a hand softly over his hair, checking for errant curls. "I was just surprised, that's all. Isn't archery a little... nerdy?"

Kurt recoiled, visibly hurt. "Well, if you don't want to go, fine. It was just a suggestion." His backbone pushed into his usual ramrod-straight posture, his hands tightening into fists at his sides.

"No!" Blaine reached out a hand unthinkingly, grasping at Kurt's. "Hold on, Kurt, I didn't mean it that way. I was just surprised. I'd love to do archery with you. Where do you go?"

"There's a place nearby. A kind of shooting range," Kurt said, relaxing visibly at Blaine's touch. "I have my own bow, but you'll have to rent one out."

"That's fine," Blaine said, smiling at Kurt in what he hoped was a reassuring way. "Do you just want to meet at your car after class?"

"That would work perfectly," Kurt said, smiling with the corners of his mouth. He glanced down at his and Blaine's hands, still clasped together, and gave Blaine's hand a quick squeeze before dropping it and turning to quickly stride away.

Blaine slumped against the lockers, a ridiculously silly grin spread across his face.

* * *

><p>"So where is this place?" Blaine asked, sliding the seatbelt across his body.<p>

Kurt smiled, serenely. "You'll see."

They fell into silence, both relaxing back into their seats to listen to the music playing softly over Kurt's stereo. Blaine had never been one to be comfortable with silence—he'd always made idle chatter during what he considered awkward silent moments, no matter who he was talking to.

With Kurt, it was different. And as silly as it sounded, it was part of the reason Kurt was just _special_. Silence never felt awkward with Kurt. He never felt the need to fill it up with inane remarks about the weather or school or Glee. He was content to just sit in companionable silence.

"So," Blaine said, finally, as Kurt pulled into a tree-enclosed parking lot with uneven pavement and faded paint lines. "Is there a reason for archery, or?"

Kurt shut his door gently behind him, walking around the car to pull his bow from the back seat. "My mom, actually."

Blaine's eyebrows lifted slightly. He knew that Kurt's mom had died in a car accident when he was young—_everyone_ knew, actually, which was why Kurt never had "your mom" jokes thrown at him. It was part of the football jocks' twisted sense of morals, right up there with how they refused to punch Artie because he was in a wheelchair, but would still slushie him and lock him in the port-o-potties.

Kurt locked the car behind him, and strode towards the small shack at the corner of the large field. Blaine jogged a bit to catch up to him.

"Hi, Max," Kurt said, leaning against the scuffed counter.

"Mister Hummel." Max was mid-forties, with several earrings in one ear and a carefully styled mop of blond curls. "How are you? I haven't seen you in a while."

Kurt shifted a little, brushing against Blaine, his hand reaching to brush Blaine's side. Blaine tucked himself a bit closer, delighting in the hot shudder that vibrated under his skin at the touch of Kurt's fingertips. "Cheerleading practice and Glee club take up a lot of my time," he explained. "But I happened to have a free afternoon today."

"And you brought a friend," Max said, and there was _something_ in his eyes when he looked at Blaine, a little smirk twitching around his lips.

When Blaine looked at Kurt, there was color in his cheeks and he steadfastly ignored Blaine's questioning gaze. "Yes, well. He needs a bow, if you could. And arrows, please."

Max eyeballed Blaine a little. "You're, what, 5'6"?"

Blaine flushed. "5'7", actually," he said, a little too hotly, and Kurt laughed softly from beside him.

"Don't laugh at me. It's a sore spot," Blaine murmured, folding his arms across his chest.

Kurt reached up to tug at them, gently unfolding them with strong, deft fingers. "I think you're the perfect height, Blaine."

Blaine fought the smile that was threatening. "Thank you," he said instead, his voice somewhat haughty.

"Any time," Kurt said, and when Blaine looked over, his ears were red and his gaze was fixed on the wall.

"This should be the right size," Max said, sliding a slightly worn-looking wooden bow across the counter. "Kurt prefers recurve, so I assumed he might want you to use that too-easier for him to teach." He placed a sheaf of arrows beside the bow. "And the arrows."

Blaine picked them up, shooting a quick glance at Kurt to see how to hold them. "Thank you."

"Thanks, Max," Kurt said, curving a hand around Blaine's elbow. "We'll be at the last target."

They walked in silence. Kurt hadn't let go of Blaine's elbow—Blaine wondered if he remembered that it was even there; he looked caught up in thought. His face was somewhat troubled.

"So," Blaine said, a little hesitantly, holding up the bow. "I've never done this before."

"I can help you," Kurt said, appearing to shake off whatever thoughts had been clouding his mind. "If I'm a horrible teacher, though, you can't say I didn't warn you."

"I doubt you'll be a horrible teacher," Blaine said, drawing an arrow from the sheaf and pointing it at Kurt teasingly. "And even if you were, how would I know the difference?"

Kurt's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Name one good teacher at McKinley."

"Ah."

"So do I just-" Blaine slid the arrow into place, pulled back the string, and let it fly. It went about four feet and landed in the grass with a soft thump.

Kurt had his hand over his eyes. He was laughing.

"Perfect, right?" Blaine asked, his arms lifted triumphantly into the air. He nearly clocked himself with the bow in the process, ducking just in time.

"You're a natural," Kurt said, his voice wry and his expression deadpan.

Blaine bowed.

"Just watch me?" Kurt suggested, and Blaine nodded.

Kurt's posture went rigid, his right arm high and level with his eyes and bent sharply at the elbow, drawing back the bowstring, his left arm holding the bow straight out in front of him. He took a moment, letting a long breath whistle out through slightly parted lips, and released the string.

Straight in the bulls-eye.

Blaine shook his head disbelievingly as Kurt turned, his expression smug. "You continue to surprise me every day, Kurt Hummel."

"I hope that's a good thing," Kurt said, his voice teasing as he drew and notched another arrow between his pointer and middle finger. "Okay, one more time, and then I'll help you, okay?"

The second arrow hit right beside the first, and Blaine broke into applause as Kurt turned and bowed. "Very well done."

"Are you right-handed or left?" Kurt asked, gesturing with his bow.

"Both," Blaine said, grinning.

Kurt blinked.

"I'm ambidextrous," Blaine explained. "When I was five I taught myself how to write with both hands."

"And you say I'm full of surprises," Kurt murmured. "Which hand do you tend to favor?"

"My left," Blaine said, and Kurt got into position—the reverse of what he'd been doing before.

"You just want to gaze through—there's a little scope sort of thing on your arrow, do you see it?"

"Yes."

"That's how you take aim—do you have it?"

"Yes."

"Okay, now release."

The arrow missed the target by about a foot.

Kurt sighed, but he was laughing.

"I'm sorry!" Blaine protested. "I'm not very good with hand-eye coordination. There's a reason I don't play any sports, you know."

"Here," Kurt said, and slid up behind Blaine to fix his posture. He pushed on Blaine's back, pulled his elbow back until Blaine felt his shoulder strain. "Hold this for a second, really let yourself feel it."

For a moment, they were silent, close enough to hear each other's breath.

"My mom used to take me here," Kurt said, his voice hardly a breath above a whisper. "She learned how to do this in Girl Scouts when she was little and it stuck with her ever since. As soon as I was old enough, she got me a little beginner's bow and began teaching me herself."

Blaine was still. His arm ached, but he didn't dare move. Kurt seemed to be in a trance as he spoke, his voice misty and far-away.

"It reminds me of her. She used to be a cheerleader, too, did you know that?"

He seemed to be expecting some sort of reaction, so Blaine made a small noise of surprise.

"It's the reason I do it," Kurt said, softly, his breath ghosting across the back of Blaine's neck, warm and cool all at once. "I like the reminder."

Blaine turned his head.

Kurt's eyes were light green, and they were fixed on Blaine's. They were so close Blaine could see the tiny flecks of blue and gray in Kurt's irises, could count each individual eyelash surrounding. Could feel Kurt's breath, sweeping warm across his nose and lips.

Kurt's eyes flickered down to Blaine's mouth.

Kissing distance.

Blaine's heart was staging a revolt, climbing high into his throat. His lungs couldn't seem to pull in enough oxygen.

And then Kurt pulled himself away, busying himself with straightening Blaine's elbow once more. "I think you're ready," he said with a smile, a clear dismissal of _whatever _it was that had just happened. "Remember how to take aim?"

"No," Blaine said, perhaps a touch too peevishly. He let the arrow fly.

Second ring, this time, and Kurt's beaming smile made his heart flutter stupidly in his chest.

* * *

><p>They were silent as they got back into the car.<p>

"Thank you," Blaine said, finally, as Kurt was pulling out of the parking lot.

Kurt blinked in surprise. "What for?"

Blaine shrugged. "I don't know. For sharing that with me? It meant something to you. So thank you."

He kept his eyes fixed on Kurt, even as Kurt stared straight ahead, a small smile playing the corner of his lips. The late afternoon sun glowed through the window behind Kurt, lighting his face in profile, a dark silhouette against the bright yellow of the sky.

It was unexpected, the way he felt sometimes. The strong tug in his chest, the actual ache he felt at his smile and his laugh and at the way Kurt's eyelashes sometimes fluttered so prettily over his blue-grey-green eyes. The longing he felt was strong, painful, so intense that he almost couldn't breathe with it. He'd wanted before, but only fleetingly; brief crushes on boys who were cute or thoughtful or particularly talented singers (he would never, _ever_ own up to the two-day crush he'd once had on Noah Puckerman).

Kurt was different. Kurt was real and flawed and so beautiful that Blaine felt like _exploding_ every second he wasn't touching him. Kurt made him feel giddy and reckless and scared and strong and hopeless and over the moon all at once. Kurt made him feel like twirling around singing classic love songs and like burying himself in his covers and refusing to come out for the rest of his sophomore year. Kurt made him feel _teenaged_ sometimes, in a way he hadn't since he'd moved out of his parents' house. Kurt made him feel like a stupid fifteen year old boy with a crush.

Kurt also made him feel different.

When he looked at Kurt's face, half in shadow now as the setting sun made a picture around them, he felt like a fifteen-year-old boy with his first real crush. He also felt like something deeper, something stronger, something that was so frustratingly difficult to describe that it itched at his skin when he tried to. It eluded him whenever he tried to grasp at whatever it was that he was feeling. It was so beyond his fifteen and a half years of life that it hurt his brain to think about what it could be, and why it was that way. Why it felt so _right_ when Kurt's hand touched his, when Kurt smiled just for him. Why Kurt doing those things, above anyone else, gave him such a sense of joy and satisfaction and complete and utter fulfillment.

Why he felt the things that he felt when Kurt sang.

Kurt's fingers came down to tap against his on the steering wheel. "You're quiet."

"Just thinking," Blaine said, and his whole body leaned towards the touch of Kurt's fingertips.

Kurt glanced at him quickly, his attention flitting back to the road ahead. "How are things with Karofsky?"

Blaine wanted to lie. But he wouldn't, not to Kurt, not now. "As good as they can be."

"That was surprisingly cryptic, for you," Kurt said, turning into Cooper's driveway and cutting the engine. "Would you like to explain what you mean by that?"

"Things with Karofsky are what they've always been," Blaine said, his tone even. "It's nothing that I can't handle, and Tina-"

"Specifics, please, Blaine?" Kurt said, lightly, but his eyes were hard. "I'm not stupid. I know he targets you more than anyone else in Glee Club and I know why."

Blaine sighed, fidgeting under Kurt's gaze. He'd gotten so good at lying about Karofsky's actions and words to people who heard what they wanted to hear—Principal Figgins, Mr. Schuester, most of the Glee club. But here was Kurt, sitting beside him and insisting on hearing everything, and not the PG version.

"Just the usual," Blaine murmured, eyes flickering up underneath his eyelashes to gauge Kurt's reaction. "Locker checks, slushies. Dumpster tosses sometimes, but less often now than they were last year."

Kurt's hands clenched into fists against his thighs, bunching the fabric of his pants tight between his fingers.

Blaine reached over to prise his fingers apart from each other, ignoring the hard thud of his heartbeat at the warmth of Kurt's fingers. He tried not to notice the way Kurt's hands fit against his, long-fingered and warm and slightly bigger than his own.

"This is what happens to me, Kurt," Blaine said, gently. "It's kind of how the social order works."

"It doesn't _have_ to be," Kurt said, vehemently. "It's ridiculous, that you _have_ to deal with this. The school claims to act 'en loco parentis'—shouldn't part of that be protecting students from things like this? What kind of parent would let their child suffer through something like this?"

Blaine raised his eyebrows.

It took Kurt a moment, but he stuttered, grasping at Blaine's hands. "No, Blaine, that's not what I meant-"

"It's fine," Blaine said, quietly, letting himself guiltily enjoy the way Kurt's fingers felt threaded through his. "That's not... uh, exactly how my parents are, anyway. It's a long story. I promise I'll tell you sometime."

"I'm going to do something about Karofsky," Kurt promised, his eyes hard and fierce on Blaine's. "I might not have the physical means or power to stop him, but I refuse to believe that Coach Sylvester doesn't. I'm tired of hearing that there's nothing they can do about it. I refuse to let anyone be bullied."

Blaine blinked against the sudden threat of tears that burned against the back of his eyeballs. "Nobody's ever done anything like that before," he said, and was ashamed to hear his voice break a little on the last work, his lip quivering in his effort to hold back tears. Kurt's face was so determined, so caring and worried about _Blaine_.

There was a beat, and then their arms were around each other, Kurt's hands gripping just as tightly at Blaine's back as Blaine's were at Kurt's. Blaine blinked hard, fiercely willing the tears clinging to the corners of his eyes to dry. Kurt's body was warm and solid and firm and large against Blaine's, and when it came time to let go, Blaine did so a little too reluctantly.

Their eyes met, their cheeks tinged pink with embarrassment, and Blaine let out a noisy gust of air. "Kind of a heavy day."

Kurt slumped back in his seat, nodding. Blaine appreciated the way Kurt was taking his time to fix his vest so Blaine could quickly swipe away the tear tracks on his cheeks.

"Thank you," Blaine said, and Kurt looked up.

"Thank _you_," Kurt said, quietly.

* * *

><p>"What makes him so different?" Quinn asked, from her position on the bed. She was curled up against his pillows, a magazine open and forgotten on her lap.<p>

Blaine thought about it, lifting his legs and spinning around in his desk chair, gripping the back of the chair to keep from falling over.

"I don't know," he said, finally. "I mean, you would think that it would be the obvious things—he's gay and we're friends—but I don't know. It's different than that. Kurt's so-" He huffed, blowing out his cheeks.

Quinn's eyebrows lifted, her gaze shifting to her lap. "Yeah, I know," she murmured, after a moment. "He's something special."

"He gets it," Blaine said, after a moment of chewing on his lip. "It's like he completely understands me, even when _I_ don't understand me. And he has this way of surprising me; he never does what I expect him to do." His fingers knotted together around the back of the chair. "He's so—different, and special. He's guarded, but he lets himself be so _real_ around me."

Quinn was watching him, a soft smile lighting her face. "How can you tell?" she asked.

"The way he smiles," Blaine said, and he was aware of the way his voice went soft and dreamy. He couldn't help it. "It's so different from the smile he uses at school and in glee. He smiles at me the way he smiles at his dad—all toothy and dimple-y and scrunchy-nosed, like he can't help how happy he is-"

Quinn threw a pillow at him. He ducked it, reaching out a hand to keep it from crashing into his stereo. "Hey!"

"You have it so bad for him," she laughed, her tongue sticking out teasingly between her teeth.

Blaine ducked his head, his smile bashful.

"Awww," Quinn cooed. "This is so sweet."

"Shut up," Blaine muttered, bringing one hand up to cover his face. "This is the _last_ time I talk about boys with you-"

"Oh, come on," Quinn said, uncurling her legs and scooting herself to the edge of the bed. "You were walking on a _cloud_ when you came in, you didn't even notice me sitting here-"

"-because I don't expect girls to be sitting in my bedroom, I don't know why Cooper keeps letting you in." Blaine interjected.

Quinn raised her eyebrows haughtily, smoothing out the skirt of her dress. "Fine," she said, lifting her chin and shaking back her short blond hair. "We can talk about something else, if you'd like."

Blaine eyed her, gears in his brain grinding. Her attention had turned back to the magazine, her delicate fingers slowly turning the pages.

"Why don't we talk about _your_ crush on Rachel Berry?" he asked, and felt a small sense of vindictive satisfaction when her grip tightened on the magazine, tearing one of the pages.

"What?" Quinn asked with an incredulous, unconvincing smile.

Blaine slung his folded arms across the back of the chair and stared at her.

Quinn threw the magazine at him.

He ducked it, laughing. "Why am I target practice today?" he asked, swinging his leg from around the chair and standing up. He crossed the room to his bed, sinking down on it beside her. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, but you know I won't tell anyone if you don't want me to."

Quinn flopped back on the bed, hair splaying across his pillow, and threw and arm over her eyes. After a moment, she peeked out from under her forearm. "Promise?"

Blaine hid a smile. "I promise."

Quinn let the arm fall back to cover her eyes once more. "I can't do this if you're looking at me."

"Would you like me to leave the room?" Blaine teased. "We can talk through the door."

"I hate you," Quinn said, her voice muffled. "I'm not used to talking about my... feelings."

"And I am?" Blaine asked, kicking off his shoes and stretching out on the bed beside her.

"No, but you're a huge romantic sap," Quinn said, her voice dry. "You cry every single time we watch _Marley and Me_."

"And you don't?" Blaine demanded.

Quinn flapped her free hand. "Do you want to know about Rachel or not?"

"Yes," Blaine said, rolling onto his side to prop his cheek up on his hand. "When did this start?"

Quinn's free hand fell to her stomach, her fingers drumming as she thought. "A little while after I started dating Finn, I think."

Blaine's eyebrows shot up. "That long?"

Quinn groaned. "Yes, that long."

The problem with Finn and Quinn and Rachel had been wrapping up by the time Blaine had gotten involved in Glee Club, but that didn't mean he hadn't heard the stories about it. Finn and Quinn dating, and then the Beth disaster, and then the massive blowout between Rachel and Quinn—everyone had thought that after Finn and Quinn had broken up once Finn found out the truth about Beth's father, Finn and Rachel would get together. Surprisingly, it hadn't happened. Instead, in a move that shocked everyone, Rachel and Quinn became friends.

Blaine nudged her with his elbow. "And when did you actually realize how you felt?"

"About the same time Kurt first saw-" she cut herself off, sitting up abruptly, her expression panicky. "What time is it? It's a school night. I have to go."

Blaine's brow furrowed. Quinn had already slid from the bed, slipping her feet into her shoes and reaching for her jacket. "Hold on-"

"I'm sorry, Blaine, I guess I completely lost track of time," Quinn said, apologetically, leaning over to kiss the side of his head. "I'll see you tomorrow in Glee? Are you and Kurt going tomorrow or Friday?"

"Friday," Blaine said, automatically. "But-"

"Tomorrow," Quinn said, firmly, and closed the bedroom door behind her, her shoulders slumping as soon as she was out of sight. Kurt would have _killed_ her if she'd finished that sentence.

Blaine fell back against the pillows once more, shaking off his confusion. He'd never really understood Quinn Fabray, and he wasn't about to start being able to decipher her any time soon. He reached for his phone, unable to stop the smile from crossing his face at the text that lit up the screen.

**KURT**: Any plans for tomorrow afternoon, after Glee?

**BLAINE**: None besides finishing a paper and maybe rehearsing for our duet. What did you have in mind?

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you, as always, to chocolate6969 (furnicotti on tumblr) and Rayychel Infinity (endofadream on tumblr) for their beta work on this fic, and for listening to my insane ideas about how this fic should go. And thank you to all of YOU, for continuing to read this even when there are big gaps between updates. I love every one of you.<strong>


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